Booth and his Bonnie
by gembones
Summary: Can a young woman find a love to compare with her grandparents' grand romance, a romance she not only witnessed first-hand growing up but which was celebrated in print and on both small and large screens? Bonnie Booth-Hodgins has to decide whether to risk waiting for a passion she might never know, or accept a perfectly good offer which will make her reasonably happy. Future AU
1. Chapter 1

Bonnie Kisses

Bonnie Booth-Hodgins stood in the doorway to her Grandpa B's suite waiting tensely for the plaid blanket over his chest to rise. When, finally, she saw the slight movement, she took a relieved breath herself, and walked quietly into the room. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully; his head was tipped back and a bit to one side, resting comfortably in the indentation long usage had worn into the recliner's back cushions. His pallid skin and thinning white hair contrasted starkly to the dark brown leather, adding to the impression of frailty. She felt a sharp pang in the area of her heart. She wasn't ready to lose him, not so soon after Grammy T, but he had already celebrated his ninetieth birthday…

Suddenly, one of his eyes opened just a crack. The sly, old fox! "Gramps, you faker! You really had me going there!"

Her grandfather straightened, and regarded her with faded chocolate-brown eyes. "Had to make sure it wasn't your mother come to pester me with her pills and potions," he grumbled. "Well? What're you waiting for, Bonbon?" He removed an age-mottled hand from under the blanket, and tapped his bristly cheek.

"Gramps, you're incorrigible!" She bent down and delivered a hearty smack on the spot indicated. "You know I don't like that nickname!"

"Tell me who in their right mind names their child 'Bonita Angel?' It's un-American!"

Bonnie dragged a nearby ottoman up to one side of the raised footrest, and settled down on it. "The first half is, I grant you. It's Spanish for 'pretty,' as I'm fairly sure you know. You don't think it suits me?" She pulled a long face, to tease him.

"Aw, go on with you! I've told you many times you're the most beautiful granddaughter I have."

"And, that meant something to me when there was some chance you'd have another, but it looks like that ship has sailed. Now, if you were to name your most handsome grandson, that would be worth a listen."

"You think I won't?" He gestured to the book shelves opposite crowded with framed family photographs. "Fetch me last year's reunion photo. You know the one."

She jumped up and did his bidding, bringing back a photo enlargement of a picture taken the previous July out at the summer house: two rows of grandkids, the eldest standing and the youngest kneeling in front of them against a backdrop of blue lake water edged by dark green conifers under an azure sky. She placed the picture in her grandfather's gnarled hands, and stood over his shoulder while he considered it.

"You probably think one of your brothers gets the nod," he said, gruffly.

"Junior has Grandpa Hodgin's blue eyes going for him, and Maximillian has something of Grammy A's exotic looks, but, if I'm going to be unbiased, my vote has to go elsewhere."

"That right? Hank III and Reese still have some growing up to do before the verdict is in on them, so I'm going to have to say…" He pointed out the serious, thirty-something man with the receding hairline standing next to her. "Stinson."

"Sonny? Really, Gramps? Ha! I see what it is: you won't choose Eddie, the obvious answer, because everyone says he's the spitting image of you when you were his age! He's got the dark good looks, the raffish charm, the roguish twinkle. He's the ladykiller in the family."

Her grandfather gathered his dignity about him, and handed the photo up to her. "I wouldn't know about that. Besides," he added, as she moved to put the picture back in its usual place, "handsome is as handsome does."

"Spoken like the true sage you are." She returned to take up her place, almost literally, at his feet, but then, had a thought. "Can I get you anything, Gramps? A snack, or something to drink?"

"Yeah, sure. A tumbler of Scotch would be good."

Bonnie wagged an admonishing finger at him. "Behave yourself. What would your doctor say?"

"Entirely too much for my liking," he groused. "A man my age has few enough vices left. I should be allowed to indulge myself once in a while. And, if you mention the word 'Ensure' to me, I won't be responsible for my actions."

She sank back down on the ottoman, and took his hand in hers. "Poor baby! It must be so awful for you, having a family who dotes on you and wants to see you live to be a hundred."

"Yeah? Well, who asked you?" His tone was cranky, but she could tell his heart really wasn't in it. "I've lived a good, long life, had more than my fair share of blessings. All this?" He waved a hand at his comfortable surroundings. "It's the final boarding area, and I'm just waiting for my flight to be called."

She hated to hear him talk that way. "You can call me selfish if you want, but I hope that flight is delayed indefinitely. I need you here."

He snorted, equal parts annoyed and amused. "What possible use am I to you, Candy Kane?"

"Wow! I haven't heard _that_ one in a long time, and it's not much of an improvement over 'Bonbon,' just so you know." She sat back, and ran her hands over her thighs, smoothing the denim with clammy palms. "You could advise me, Gramps. You see, I'm having dinner with Trev tonight. At La Coupole…"

He nodded appreciatively. "Swanky. That'll cost a bundle. Can this 'Trev' character afford it?"

"Gramps!" Bonnie remonstrated, "You've known Trev for years. Trevor Wyndham-Pryce?"

"The name does ring a bell." The famous twinkle shone in his eyes, and his lips twitched in a poorly-suppressed smile. "But, my memory these days…"

She heaved a disgusted sigh for his amusement, and fetched another photo from its shelf. "This was taken the night of the Charity Dreamworks Ball, two years ago. The Wyndham-Price Foundation is one of the major sponsors." She allowed herself to linger a moment over the picture. Trev looked particularly handsome in his black tie, the Scandinavian coloring he'd inherited from his mother highlighted in contrast. He'd just started wearing his white-blond hair cropped very short, revealing his high, broad forehead, and throwing his arrow-shaped nose and sharp cheekbones into relief. His deep blue eyes under barely-there brows were frank and forbearing, and his slight smile spoke of urbanity and quiet confidence. He had one arm around her waist; she had leaned her head against his temple.

When his turn came, it was immediately apparent from the sudden sheen of tears that her grandfather was not inspecting Trev. "You… look so much like her," he said, blinking furiously. "With your hair pulled back, and your shoulders bare. She had a black lace dress like that one once, with a diamond bow at the waist…"

Bonnie could have kicked herself. She ought to have remembered. When, in anticipation of Trev's arrival, she had laughingly presented herself for her grandmother's approval, Grammy T had insisted on lending her the sparkling butterfly-clasp belt as well as a single-strand diamond necklace with a brilliant trefoil pendant and its matching drop earrings. She had been a walking king's ransom that night. Trev had been dazzled.

Grandpa B cleared his throat, and handed the photo back to her. "I remember the boy, now. Been hanging round you since grade school. Old family, pots of money, society pages. You played mixed doubles at the club, right? Won a few championships?"

"One or two," she said, modestly. In truth, they'd been an unbeatable combination. "I always thought you liked him."

"What's not to like: courteous, respectful, good head on his shoulders, Harvard Law… Being groomed to take over the family business, I expect."

"Oh, he's set his sights higher that the state legislature, Gramps, count on it. We're talking oval office or bust here."

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Ambitious. More power to him, I say. You could do worse. 'Course, he couldn't do better."

"Gramps, you old flatterer, you!" She scrambled to her feet, and, leaning over him, bussed both his cheeks soundly.

When she pulled back, he was grinning up at her. " 'Say I'm sorry, say I'm sad… Say I'm growing old, but add, Bonnie kissed me'."

'What's that, Gramps?"

"Hm? Just part of an old poem your grandma used to love. Don't they teach you anything in school these days?"

"With a chemistry major and an art history minor, I didn't have much time for literature courses as an undergrad, and since graduation, I've been concentrating on my fine art classes and studying for my painting conservation certificate."

"I was just playing with you, Sweet Tart. I know you work hard. So… what's this advice you think I can give you?"

She twisted her hands together in her lap. "I'm pretty sure tonight's the night. Trev sent a dozen beautiful roses, and then, there's the reservation at an expensive restaurant… He's going to propose, Gramps."

"That's the standard scenario," he agreed. "I know your Grandpa Hodgins tried it that way once, for all the good it did him." He raised a hand to his face, and scratched his chin reflectively. "I still don't see what you need from me."

"What do I tell him, if he asks, Gramps? How can I be sure he's the one?"


	2. Chapter 2: Advice

Her grandfather regarded her in consternation. "What in the world makes you think _I_ have the answer? You know my record with marriage proposals: I struck out twice."

"But, when it came to _accepting_ a proposal, you hit it out of the park, Gramps, and that's what I need help with." Bonnie rose to her feet, and began wearing a path onto the deep pile of the intricately-patterned Oriental rug. "Trev and me, we're compatible in every way: we have similar backgrounds, we're both well-educated, we share the same views on politics and religion, we have the same values. I love his family — the Senator and Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce couldn't be more welcoming — and Mom and Dad already treat Trev like a third son. He's drop-dead gorgeous — did you know he's made the Top 10 Most Eligible Men in D.C. list three years running? He's generous, super-considerate…"

"Kind to small animals and little old ladies. Yeah, I get the picture," Grandpa B interrupted with a trace of impatience. "Still, with all he's got going for him, you're not positive you want to say 'yes.' So… what's the hold-up?" He screwed up his face, as if ransacking his mind for possibilities, but Bonnie was fairly confident it was all for show. "Must be our boy Trev's no good in the sack."

"Gramps!" Bonnie gasped, more amused than scandalized. "If you must know, Trev's a wonderful lover. I have no complaints on that score: none."

Her adviser threw up his hands, obviously stumped. "Sounds to me like you love the man."

"I _do_ love him. Everybody loves him. There're dozens of women who'd snap him up in a minute if he gave them the tiniest sign."

"But, he only has eyes for you." He nodded slowly. "You know the person you should really talk to? Your Grammy A. She turned Hodgins down twice, that I know of. Could've been more."

Bonnie consulted the exquisite Patek-Philippe wrist watch Grammy T had bequeathed her in her will, along with many other fabulous baubles and trinkets. "It'll be late afternoon in Paris. She's probably hosting one of her famous _salons_ , and queening it over the artistic elite of the city from the comfort of her high-backed chair. Did I tell you she insists we speak French whenever I video-chat with her?"

"Looking out for your best interests, no doubt. She doesn't want you losing the fluency you gained when you were living with her last year. You might want to go back to France one of these days."

"For work, almost certainly. There's a fellowship at the Louvre I'd drop everything for." She stopped her pacing, and dropped back down on the ottoman. "Everything, except the kind of love you had with Grammy T. That's the kind of marriage I want, Gramps. You know, there were times, when Grammy was in the hospital, I'd stop by to see her, and the two of you… it was like you were in your own separate world, oblivious to everyone and everything but each other: you, sitting by her bed, holding her hand, and Grammy, lying back against the pillows, looking at you with such a serene smile on her face. It was as if you were having whole conversations in silence, speaking only with your eyes. Am I being greedy to want a connection like that for myself? Unrealistic? Maybe the kind of love you two had is exceptionally rare, or a matter of unbelievable luck, I don't know…"

She fixed him with a look she hoped spoke eloquently of her inner turmoil as well as her absolute faith in him to put everything right. Her Grandpa B had always been there for her, unlike her scattershot parents. Her mother had always been, and continued to be, immersed in running the family's charitable foundation by day, and churning out the next generation of Reich series novels by night, while her father was absorbed in overseeing the Hodgins Research and Development Lab, and in steering the burgeoning conglomerate whose first two products had been the ever-popular Opie and Thurston's Special Sauce, and the indispensable Ultra-Rubber Mat. For all intents and purposes, she and her brothers had been raised by their maternal grandparents with whom they shared a large, walled compound in Virginia. If she scraped her knee, or bumped her head, she sought comfort from her Gramps, who always had time to dab away the blood or apply an ice pack. When she was disconsolate, she could always curl up in his lap and be soothed. He was her companion in good times, too: her swimming coach, her skating instructor, her checkers opponent, her fellow-explorer in the many fantastic realms of children's literature. He was her bulwark and security, her champion and cheerleader: her very best friend.

"Let me ask you a question," he said now. "If you're wrong about Trev, if he doesn't pop the question tonight, how will you feel? Relieved, or disappointed? Don't think. Just answer."

"Relieved," she said, on a sigh.

"And, what if he never asks you?" He held up a hand, forestalling her objection. "I agree it's unlikely, but go with me, here. Still relieved?"

She shook her head. "He could be the one, Gramps. It's just… I don't want to have any doubts."

"You want my advice? Here it is, then: be honest with the man. If you don't know your own mind yet, just tell him."

"It's not my mind, Gramps. Rationally, I recognize Trevor is perfect for me. I'd be a fool to let him get away. It's my heart that's torn."

"And, the heart wants what it wants, as a wise chef once said to me." Her grandfather's thoughtful expression suddenly sharpened, and he regarded her with a look narrowed by suspicion. "You're holding out on me, Jelly Bean. There's something you aren't telling me. What is it?"

Bonnie was conscious of the quickening of her heartbeat. "I… I don't know what you mean, Gramps. I… I've told you everything."

"You said your heart was 'torn.' That implies a pull in two directions. Trev's tugging one way, and… someone's tugging the other. The question is: who?"

She tried a deprecating shake of the head. "You've got the wrong end of the stick, Gramps, believe me!"

He straightened in his chair, a new gleam in his eye. In the Reich books, she remembered, Agent Andy always enjoyed sparring with the reluctant witness. "You not only look like Grammy, you can't tell a convincing lie, either. Just look at you: you're breathing faster, your cheeks are flushed, and you can't meet my eyes. What're you hiding?"

"All right," she conceded, unhappily. "There is someone… a man, who… intrigues me. But, he's totally unsuitable."

"Unsuitable," her grandfather repeated, drawing the word out as though assessing all its possible meanings. "Married?"

"No, divorced, and not at all amicably. Custody battles. There's a five-year-old boy caught in the middle, and the ex-wife wields him like a weapon."

Her grandfather's face darkened ominously, reminding her, belatedly, that he had engaged in similar skirmishes with her Uncle Parker's mother in his early years. Happily, they had managed to put their differences behind them, and Parker hadn't paid the price of their break-up too long. She hoped, briefly, that Grandpa B had been thrown off-track by the recollection, but no such luck. "Got some life experience, then. Too old?"

"No, he's got only five or six years on me." The same age gap that had separated her grandparents.

"Religious differences?"

"I believe he may be a cultural Jew, but it's not because I'm a shiksa that he disapproves of me."

His eyes widened, and his jaw sagged noticeably. "Say again? Did I hear you correctly? He disapproves of _you_? Bonita Angel Booth-Hodgins?" When she nodded, he snapped, "Why didn't you just say 'unsuitable on the grounds of insanity,' then? The man is obviously mad as a hatter, or a certified imbecile."

"That sounds promising!" Bonnie turned toward the doorway to see her brother Junior guide a hover-tray bearing some flatware and a napkin-covered dish into the room. "Who's gone bonkers, and what'd he do to prove it?"

Grandpa B ignored the questions, and waved Junior away irritably. "Take that out of here. I'm not hungry."

"You know the old saying, Gramps: 'appetite comes with eating.' Anyway," he added, steering the tray to descend onto the glass-topped coffee table. "You don't even know what's in the ramekin."

"Some nutritious pap or other your mother cooked up for me," he growled.

"Wrong on both counts," Junior answered placidly. "It's an old favorite of mine I whipped up for lunch, and it's guaranteed to be hard on the arteries. I nearly gobbled down the whole casserole myself, but then, like the devoted grandson I am, I thought of you." Junior whisked away the napkin to reveal a mound of golden elbow noodles glistening in runny cheese sauce.

"Well, then…" Their grandfather pushed down on the footrest with limited success; Junior and Bonnie added their might, and soon had him sitting up. "Give it here. You didn't forget the fresh-ground nutmeg, did you?"

"Gramps!" Junior reared back, mock-offended. "What'd you take me for?"


	3. Chapter 3: Rudesby

Chapter 3: Rudesby

Although Grandpa B announced that he wanted "to be alone" with his mac 'n' cheese, it was only Bonnie who beat a quick retreat. She blessed Junior for his thoughtfulness in whetting their grandfather's flagging appetite, but it was his timely arrival for which she was primarily grateful; had the interrogation lasted much longer, she likely would have spilled all the embarrassing beans regarding a certain Dr. Rudolph Baer, painting conservator at the Jeffersonian Museum and her immediate supervisor for the next nine months.

She knew she could not let "Rudesby" (his well-earned nickname among the fellows and interns) have any part in her decision about Trev. She had not been exaggerating about his disapproval of her, and, by his own admission, he had determined to dislike her even before they met. The very first day, three months before, when he had invited her into his office to "welcome" her to the team, he had not scrupled to tell her that, had he been consulted, he would have strenuously opposed her being granted the year-long fellowship.

"Clearly," he said, regarding her fixedly from under beetling black brows, "as a scion of no fewer than two world-renown and wealthy families, you have no need to earn your daily bread, and your accepting the job here deprives a more deserving candidate of the training, practical experience and networking possibilities critical to gaining a foothold in this profession. I can think of a dozen young men and women with a more compelling claim to this opportunity than you, but, needless to say, none of them has the clout of a financial empire behind them, or a personal tie to individuals who are revered in these halls as having made the Jeffersonian one of the premier institutions in the country, and for whom entire collections have been named.

"Please be aware, Miss Booth-Hodgins, that while you are working under my supervision, you will not receive any of the special considerations to which you no doubt feel entitled. On the contrary: I will be watching you very closely, and I will not hesitate to lobby for your dismissal if I feel that your work is not up to my exacting standards. If you cannot make substantial contributions to our on-going projects, no connections, however influential, will save you. I trust I have made my position plain. You may go now. Miss Franklin will see to the remainder of your orientation."

In all her twenty-five years, Bonnie had never been spoken to in so contemptuous a manner. She had been speechless with the shock of it, unable to do more than sit dumfounded through his offensive remarks, and remove herself, zombie-like, when he was done. She must have been glassy-eyed and white as a sheet upon returning to the workroom, because the waiting Miss Franklin tut-tutted at the sight of her, took her by the arm, and leading her to a seat, prepared her a cup of strong black tea from her personal stash. "Don't take it to heart, honey," the somewhat older woman advised, patting her reassuringly on the arm. "He's an absolute beast, but you'll learn more from him in a year than you would in ten under somebody else." Gabby, as Miss Franklin insisted on being called, sighed dramatically. "What a terrible waste of male pulchritude…"

If Rudesby had thought to cow her into voluntarily surrendering her fellowship, he had made a serious tactical error. She was a Booth-Hodgins, with all that implied of pluck, perseverance and justifiable self-esteem, and she would not be misprized. His flagrant prejudice steeled her resolve not only to meet his expectations, however unreasonable, but to exceed them. _He will eat crow_ , Bonnie promised herself grimly, and, if in her first few weeks he never complimented her work, neither did he find anything to criticize in it. He continued surly and unpleasant, but that was his demeanor toward everyone, and so not intolerable.

What Dr. Baer lacked in personal graces, he more than made up for in talent and dedication to his craft. His love for the paintings entrusted to him was beyond dispute, and if he insisted on no pains being spared to return them to their former glory, or to rescue them from further degradation, he demanded no less of himself. There was no flake, no chip, no paint loss too minute to escape his notice; he was tireless in his attention to the smallest detail, driven to lavishing without stint all the delicate care each precious canvas demanded of him. The long-dead artists of the masterpieces that passed through his hands could not have asked for a more devoted or more passionate steward of their work.

It was, perhaps, his outsized passion for art, a passion Bonnie shared, that balanced out his egregiously boorish behavior in her eyes. He was a man of great energy, extensive knowledge and little to no patience. He did not mince words, he did not compromise, and he made no apologies. Bonnie admired the strength of his character and his obvious integrity, although she could not like the rude manner in which these were expressed. He was rather like a force of nature, she sometimes thought: furious and unpredictable, majestic and terrifying, awe-inspiring and awful. Intriguing, indeed; that was the least of it…

If she was completely honest with herself — something she tried to avoid at all costs in thinking of Dr. Baer — she would have to admit she was very powerfully attracted to him. It was an extremely unwelcome attraction, however, and, given his patently condescending attitude toward her, one without a future into the bargain. Entirely unsuitable, just as she had said to her grandfather, and as such, it could have no bearing whatsoever on her decision to accept or refuse Trevor Wyndham-Pryce, none at all.


	4. Chapter 4: Vision

4\. Vision

Bonnie spent what remained of the afternoon in her studio, finishing up the last of her four paintings, all of which would be displayed in two weeks' time as part of her fine arts seminar's exhibition. She had no illusions about her talent; she was not an artist like her Grammy A. She had no "vision" of her own, nothing "to say." That had been the source of some grief to her in her teens, but she had made peace with the fact that she was a technician, a highly-skilled renderer. In this, as in so many other areas, she took after Grammy T, whose dig notebooks were crammed with exquisite little drawings of bones, primitive stone tools, pottery shards, and the like. Grammy T had been a keen observer, not a creator, and so was she.

She had thought long and hard about the paintings she would execute for her final project, and had finally decided to pay homage to her home state of Virginia. As the theme itself was banal in the extreme, she had conceived of approaching each of her subjects, four of the many state emblems, as though seen through a microscope. In painting the cardinal, she had focused on capturing all the fine detail of a single dark eye surrounded by hair-thin black and red feathers; for the dogwood blossom, she had represented only the very center of the greenish-yellow flowering head; the scallop shell and the brook trout were studies in intricate patterning. As with any common object greatly magnified, none of the emblems was immediately recognizable but they were all nonetheless accurately represented, an effect she found pleasing and moderately interesting. Most importantly to her, the brushwork was strong, clean and neat, the kind of brushwork she needed to master if she was to be trusted with retouching compromised canvases.

When, at last, she glanced at her watch, she saw to her dismay that she would have to race about if she was to leave for her date in a timely fashion. A quick shower, some hot curlers rolled willy-nilly into her auburn hair, a few swipes with the mascara wand and a light sweep of blusher, and she was ready to shimmy into her slip dress, a vintage black-silk number she had discovered in a tiny consignment shop off Rue de Charonne in Paris. _Vous avez de la chance, Mademoiselle,_ the chic salesgirl had told her: they had put the dress out only that morning. Cocktail length, with sequin-trimming along its spaghetti straps and tie belt, the designer creation fit like a second skin, making the most of her skimpy curves. She stepped into the sling-back pumps whose darling little bows over the toe box had seduced her into spending far too much, and rushed back into the bathroom, where she removed the curlers, shook her hair into a riot of loose waves and applied a new-for-her shade of lipstick: candy apply red. She snatched up her black cashmere stole and beaded evening bag, and hurried to her grandfather's suite to wish him good night.

Instead of Grandpa B, she found her eighteen-year-old brother Maximillian in sole possession of the living area. He was sprawled on the divan, scrolling through his messages when she walked in. "Va va voom!" he said, popping up into a sitting position. "I hope Trev's ticker's in good condition, 'cause it just might stop at the sight of you, big sis. Poor old guy. Show him some mercy, why don't cha?"

Bonnie suppressed a smile at his arrant nonsense. "Cut out the blather, and make yourself useful for a change." She turned her back to him, and lifted the hair off the back of her neck. "There's a hook-and-eye closure I couldn't manage. Right at the top of the zipper."

Max had just finished doing her up, when the rhythmic thumping of a cane against the floorboards announced their grandfather's imminent return. Bonnie struck a provocative pose, and when he had shuffled into the room, said, "Well, what do you think, Gramps? Will I do?" She began a slow turn so he could appreciate the full effect of her elegance, anticipating with pleasure the amused indulgence she would see on his face when she'd circled back to him.

But, "Roxanne?" he said, his eyes wide in wonder and confusion. "Roxie?"

Bonnie shot Max a worried look, and hastened to his side. "No, Gramps." She laid a light hand on his arm, and peered into his face. "It's me. Bonnie."

"Yeah, yeah." He shrugged his shoulder irritably. "I know who you are. I'm not senile. Just for a second, there, you reminded of a girl I squired round Vegas for a couple of days, that's all. Great gal. Kept a wad of bills in her cleavage."

"How… ah… resourceful of her." Between them, Bonnie and Max saw him comfortably settled in his chair. "Must've been quite a while back. Nobody carries cash anymore."

"Been half a hundred years…" He smiled to himself, his eyes looking past them, apparently absorbed in a vision of that far-away time.

"Trev coming by for you?" Max said into the silence.

"No, he's been in D. C. all day, so I'll take SteerE in and meet him at the restaurant."

"Better hit the road, then. Traffic's bound to be a nightmare."

"Right." She bent over her grandfather and kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of red behind. "See you in the morning, Gramps."

Sleek and silver-gray, SteerE was parked and waiting for her on the circular drive when she emerged from the main entrance some minutes later. Its gull-wing doors rose noiselessly at her approach, allowing her to climb smoothly into the closer of the two passenger seats. She leaned back against the supple leather as the safety harness slid up along its track and fixed her securely in place. With the click of the buckle, a single ping sounded, followed by the well-modulated female voice Bonnie had selected as her default setting. "Greetings, Bonnie," SteerE said. "Destination, please."

"La Coupole, Pennsylvania Avenue, D. C."

"Acknowledged." The video display on the dashboard flashed into life, showing a road map of the immediate area. "Desired time of arrival."

"Let's aim for eight p.m., or shortly afterward."

"Acknowledged." An arrow now appeared on the screen, indicating the route SteerE had chosen as best suited to meet the established criteria. Gravel crunched under the wheels as the vehicle moved silently forward. "Audio preference?"

Bonnie did not want to be alone with her thoughts, but she was too distracted to listen to podcast chatter, and not in the mood for lyrics. "Classical music, I think. Something light, cheerful…"

"Mozart?" SteerE suggested. " _Eine kleine Nachtmusik_?"

"Perfect." Bonnie nestled against the seat back, and prepared to enjoy the ride.


	5. Chapter 5: Snake

5\. Snake

Established in the early years of the century by celebrated chef and media personality Gordon Wyatt, _La Coupole_ had survived its founder's retirement and recent death without suffering any noticeable decline in ratings or popularity. Indeed, it had reached the point where prospective diners were directed to apply for a reservation, usually several months in advance, and subsequently informed of the date and time when they could be accommodated. Exceptions were made only for visiting foreign dignitaries and those long-standing clients whose loyalty made them sentimental favorites of the executive chef and maitre d'hotel. Seeley Booth and Angela Montenegro might have had a table any night they required one, simply for the asking. Trevor Wyndham-Pryce was not, however, a member of this select company, and had had no choice but to await his summons, which had been three months in coming.

Bonnie passed through the outer doors of the establishment and into a bare antechamber where the under-maitre d'hotel stood waiting to turn away, with little or no ceremony, any diners who, in their ignorance, wandered in from the street expecting to be seated. This gentleman bowed her into the restaurant proper, and there, just beyond the doorway behind his gleaming wooden podium, was Monsieur Gaspar who greeted her warmly, congratulated her on her splendid looks, and guided her to the table where Trev sat nursing a Tom Collins. When he caught sight of her, wending her way toward him in Gaspar's wake, he rose quickly to his feet, his face bright with a wide smile. She had time to admire the figure he cut standing there in his dark navy Italian suit, white pinstriped shirt, and sky blue tie, a tie that, from a distance, appeared polka-dotted but that she knew, because she had given it to him, featured tiny white dolphins in mid-leap.

When she was close enough, Trev took a step toward her, captured her free hand, and kissed her, in the French fashion, once on each cheek. "Wow," he said, examining her from tousled head to beribboned toes, "Just… wow! I'm… speechless."

"Well," she said, grinning with pure pleasure and gratification, "I hope it's not a permanent condition. That would make for a very boring dinner."

Trev pulled out her chair for her, and motioned to the table setting. "I had them rearrange things so we'd be sitting next to each other, instead of across. Is that all right? It can all be moved back…"

"No, you're right: it's much cosier this way." While he resumed his seat, she placed her clutch on the table, and wrapped her stole loosely around her shoulders against the air-conditioned chill. "I haven't been here in ages," she said, taking in the well-spaced tables, draped in heavy, cream-colored damask, and set with gold-rimmed china, silver-plated flatware and sparkling crystal glasses. The fresh cut-flower centerpieces added not only color but a hint of floral bouquet to the air. "I'm really looking forward to dinner. I hear they have Chef Wyatt's oyster gin and tonics on the appetizer menu again. She laughed to see Trev grimace. "I know people say they look like sperm on corn smut, but they're supposed to be amazingly good."

"It's not that." Trev leaned in toward her confidentially, his deep blue eyes narrowed in concern. "Look, before we order, I think you should know: Wick-Sweets is here."

"He is? Where?" Bonnie swung her head quickly to the right and left, without glimpsing hide nor hair of her grandfather's disgraced godson. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I spotted him on the way in. He's two tables directly behind you. No, don't turn around! You don't want to encourage him, do you?"

"Hardly. He's a greedy, disloyal snake. How'd he wangle a reservation here, I'd like to know."

"Probably traded on the family connection. He might even have suggested the reservation was on your grandfather's behalf."

"I wouldn't put it past him. He's stooped a lot lower, after all."

"You mean, by selling his father's book about your grandparents' partnership." A waiter, nattily garbed in traditional server black and white, approached the table, and was waved off.

"It wasn't that he sold it; he had the decency to ask permission first, and my grandparents had no objections. He'd gone through the considerable inheritance his mother left him, and he needed the money. The problem was, he betrayed their trust. He promised to make any and all changes necessary to protect their privacy, and he didn't."

Trev shifted uneasily in his seat. "I know it's considered a capital offense in your family, but I… ah, actually have read Parts of the Whole, and, to be honest, if I didn't know it was based on them, I'd never have guessed."

"But, you _did_ know, that's the point. Would you have had any interest in the book, otherwise?"

Trev shook his head decisively. "That was the only reason I picked it up."

"Exactly. When it first came out, the novel was a total flop. The reviews were tepid at best, and there was absolutely no buzz. It looked destined for the remaindered shelves, or worse, returned to the publisher to be pulped. But then, in an interview with one of his journalist-hack cronies, Wick-Sweets was tricked — so he says — into admitting that his characters were based on real-life individuals, and he dropped so many hints he might as well have come right out and named them. Of course, after that, everyone had to rush out and buy a copy! Who didn't want to know the true love that inspired the classic Kathy Reichs / Agent Lister partnership? Who didn't want a sneak peek into the celebrated Dr. Temperance Brennan's personal life? The book was on the best-seller list for months, and it's still not out of print today."

"Made him a millionaire many times over from what I hear, and, that's not even counting the movie rights."

"Oh," Bonnie fumed, "don't get me started on that movie! It makes my blood boil every time I think of it. I never should have let you talk me into seeing it. If my grandfather ever finds out, he'll disown me."

Trev's lips quirked into a mischievous smile. "Ah, the blackmail possibilities!" More seriously, he added, "Do you think your grandparents really never watched it, not once? It was so corny and ridiculous, your grandmother would probably have gotten a kick out of it."

"It's true," Bonnie nodded. "She thought all the hoopla genuinely hysterical. Whenever she was asked to comment on the book, she would just laugh, and dismiss it as absurd. Grandpa B was not amused, however. The book was a serious invasion of his privacy, and he took the affront to heart."

"So, Wick-Sweets has been _persona non grata_ ever since."

"Yes, not that it's stopped him from trying to horn in where he's not welcome. He crashed Sonny's wedding, remember? Gramps was all in favor of having him thrown out on his ear, but Grammy thought he was harmless, and let him stay. And, how did Wick-Sweets repay her generosity? The next day, photos of the family-only ceremony and reception were splashed all over social media. I tell you, he's made his fortune exploiting my family."

Trev leaned toward her again, sought and held her eyes. "There are other restaurants. Just say the word, and we're out of here."

"Let that worm ruin our evening? Never! If he has the nerve to come over here and try to strike up a conversation, I'll just take a page out of Gramps' playbook, and freeze him out."

Trev eyed her with a mix of frank amusement and admiration. "You know, I think I'd pay good money to see that. So…" He gestured the hovering waiter over. "I imagine you've worked a powerful thirst. What'll you have? Your usual Campari and Soda?"

Bonnie smiled at him gratefully, and blocked all further thought of Wicks-Sweets firmly from her mind.


	6. Chapter 6: Proposal

6\. Proposal

As Wick-Sweets did nothing over the course of the evening to impose himself on their attention, Bonnie and Trev soon forgot his presence entirely. In this, he was really no different from all the other patrons in the room, who, for all the notice Bonnie and Trev took of them, might just as well have been eating ready-quick dinners out of plastic trays in the comfort of their own homes.

The two of them talked easily, with hardly a lull in their conversation. Trev brought her up to date on the latest news and gossip making the rounds of his law practice, and Bonnie filled him in on the progress of her projects both at the Jeffersonian and in her own studio. They discussed the Senator's upcoming bid for re-election, and what they could, separately and together, contribute to the effort. They touched on the state of her grandfather's health, and her growing concern on that score. All the while, they reveled in one scrumptious course after another, exclaiming over the beauty of the presentations and savoring the deliciously complex flavors of the food. They shared unselfconsciously, scooping must-try tidbits onto each other's plates, or proffering a delectable morsel at the end of a fork. As the first bottle of wine was emptied and replaced by a second, they grew somewhat giddy and expansive, laughing and beaming at each other so warmly, they caused the other diners in their immediate vicinity, and even their waiter, to smile indulgently at so obvious a picture of young love.

For dessert, the waiter set a large glass bowl of _zuppa inglese_ before them, poured out two flutes of champagne, and left the bottle cooling in an ice bucket table-side. Bonnie looked at the liqueur-soaked cake and cream concoction with its glossy strawberry topping, and said, on a contented sigh, "That looks much too beautiful to eat!"

"In that case…" With great deliberation, Trev moved the dish toward the center of the table, and that done, he reached into his suit coat pocket, and removed from its depths a midnight-blue jeweler's box which he set, loosely caged in his fingers, on the table before him. He extended a hand to her, and she surrendered hers to him. "Bonita Angel Booth-Hodgins," he said, more solemn than she had ever seen him, "you have always been the one for me, dating back to grade school when I took it for granted, as the natural order of things, that one day we would be married and go on to live happily ever after. They say change is the only constant, but that's not my experience. Loving you has been a constant practically my whole life, and I don't expect that ever to change. You know me. You can trust I will always put your happiness first, and your welfare before my own.

"What we have together, Bonnie, you and me, it's… _right._ In every way. That's how I see it. It's not the stuff of romance novels: there won't be any books or movies documenting the tremendous highs and desperate lows of our love. When I look ahead, I see a life of common joys: rewarding work, a comfortable home, children, if we're lucky, a large dog or two always underfoot, and, when we've done our part to make the world a better place, an active old age. That's my dream for the future, and I very much hope you'll be willing to make it come true with me." He released her hand so as to take hold of the little blue box, raise its lid, and set it, contents revealed, on the table in front of her. "Will you marry me?"

Brilliant as an evening star against the blue velvet interior, a solitary princess-cut diamond sparkled up at her. The white gold band which held it was fairly wide, and not a closed circlet; rather, its two ends narrowed to rounded points and twisted, one up and one down, securing the large square gemstone between them. The exquisite beauty of its materials and workmanship quite aside, Bonnie could appreciate the lovely sentiment symbolized in the ring's design: two lives, separate but united in prizing and sustaining something rare and precious. Her eyes began to prick with tears, and to cover her emotion, she leaned into Trev, and kissed him.

When she pulled back, it was to see Trev looking back at her, his heart in his eyes. She was very sorely tempted to say 'yes,' but knew it would be only for his sake, not for theirs. "Sweet man," she said, softly. "True heart… no."

She steeled herself to bear his disappointment, but he gave no sign of being crushed, or even greatly let down. He nodded very slightly, as if his expectations had been met, and smiled wanly. "Still not ready. No need to look so stunned," he went on, as Bonnie sank back in her chair, astonished at his reaction. "I _know_ you, remember, and part of that is knowing you love me. I'm not discouraged. Unless…" He studied her face, suddenly intent. "Should I be? Is there somebody else?"

"What? No, of course not!" A physical attraction, almost certainly temporary in nature, couldn't be said to qualify. "And, I know you're right: we _are_ a perfect fit. I should be jumping up and down, and squealing like mad. I really don't know why I'm not."

"Because you're not one hundred percent sure — _yet_ — and I suspect that's what it's going to take. Am I disappointed that you still have reservations? Of course, but I've waited fifteen years already." He closed his hand over the jeweler's box; it snapped shut with an audible clap, hiding the scintillating treasure from view. "What's a year or two more?"

"So…" Her voice, to her own ears, sounded small and hesitant. "You will ask me again?"

He picked up the champagne flutes, and handed her one. "I'd say chances of that are good to excellent. A toast," he proposed, with rather forced cheerfulness. "To better luck next time."

Bonnie clinked her glass to his, and took a sip; the wine, she discovered, had gone a bit flat.

"Now, for some of that trifle," Trev said, retrieving the desert dish and setting it between them. "Because that's all it is, really: English trifle with an Italian flair." He passed her one of the spoons, and, taking up the other, scooped up a first bite. "Just out of curiosity: would violins have, maybe, tipped the scales in my favor?"

Bonnie was startled into an inelegant snort of laughter. "Oh, Trev!" She shook her head fondly. He really was the kindest, most generous man.

"No, that's what I thought." He dug through the pudding layer, and liberated a morsel of cake. "What I should've done, looking back, is take your father's advice."

"My father gave you advice? About proposing to me?" Bonnie simply couldn't credit it.

"Not about proposing as such. This was at Sonny's wedding reception, and a group of us were sitting around, talking about all the hoops Sonny'd had to jump through to convince Adele to marry him, and your father said the best way to go about it, in his experience, is to knock your sweetheart up, and let motherhood work to your advantage."

Bonnie stared at him in equal parts horror and disbelief. "My father never…!"

"To be fair, we were all pretty plastered at the time, but I distinctly remember him saying it'd done the trick for him and your Grandpa B. The way he told it, neither your grandmother nor your mom wanted anything to do with marriage until after they'd had their first baby, and he seemed to think you showed signs of having a similar disposition."

Bonnie had graduated from incredulity to outrage. "I can't believe this! My own father! Good thing for him he's out of town at the moment!"

"Take it easy," Trev said, soothingly. "I'm sure he was just having some fun, and so was I just now. I would never take advantage of you like that, but I have to admit I've often wondered, purely as a matter of academic interest, if I have too many scruples for my own good. What if, before you left for your year in Paris, you'd found out you were pregnant, what do you think would have happened? Would we be married now?"

The question occupied her much of the ride back to the compound. She tried to imagine carrying the first of the next generation of Wyndham-Pryces. She and Trevor were both young and healthy; there was no reason to apprehend anything but a normal, uncomplicated birth. The child would have every advantage: a loving, well-to-do extended family with better-than-average looks and a potential for genius-level intellect. She could hear Grammy T now: you owe it to the world to reproduce your extraordinary genetic inheritance! A weighty responsibility, for sure, and one, on reflection, that Bonnie, after the initial shock, would have embraced enthusiastically.

She had to hand it to her father: the plan would probably have worked.


	7. Chapter 7: Video

7\. Video

Late the next morning, Bonnie woke to a muzzy head and a queasy stomach: the inevitable aftermath of an evening spent overindulging in rich food and fine wine. She rolled out of bed with a groan, slipped into some loose-fitting work-out clothes, and, face scrubbed and hair scraped back into a pony tail, set off to procure herself some English Breakfast tea and sympathy.

When, steaming mug in hand, she padded, barefoot, into her grandfather's suite, she was prepared to find that her mother, Junior, Max or, indeed, any combination of the three had preceded her, but it was someone entirely unexpected she discovered sitting hunched over a checkerboard across from Grandpa B. "King me," the visitor said, with ringing satisfaction even as Bonnie, all discomfort forgotten, caroled joyfully, "Eddie!" She set her mug down on the nearest surface, and launched herself in his direction.

"Hey, there, Lollipop!" Eddie had barely found his feet and extended his arms when she threw herself at him, nearly knocking him over. "Whoa, now!" he laughed. "Easy does it. Don't damage the goods!"

Bonnie hugged him tight, this favorite cousin of hers. She loved them all, of course, even stick-in-the-mud Stinson, but she had a special affection for Eddie, and she was not alone in this, despite protests to the contrary from others in the family, beginning with Gramps right on down to Reese. Eddie was a natural-born charmer, a shameless rogue and a veritable chameleon; entertaining and irresistible. Bonnie dropped back onto her heels, and slapped him playfully on the torso. "If you didn't make yourself so scarce, I wouldn't make such a fuss over you!"

Eddie rubbed a hand over his chest, and tried to look aggrieved. "You're my witness, Gramps. She assaulted me!"

"Oh, pipe down, you big baby!" Bonnie rounded the table, and kissed her grandfather's cheek. "Will you share Eddie with me, or should I leave you two alone to finish your game?"

"Stay, stay!" He motioned to the board, where Eddie's black pieces far outnumbered his red. "I was just going to let him win, anyway."

"Sound plan," she nodded approvingly. "We all know how he gets when he loses."

"And, they wonder," Eddie sighed, returning the game pieces to their box, "why I don't come around here more often."

Bonnie retrieved her rapidly-cooling tea and pulled a chair up to the table. "So, what's it been? A month? Two? What've you been up to, stranger?"

Eddie settled lower in his chair, stretched out his long legs, and entwined his fingers over his taut abdomen. "Oh, this and that. And, then, you know… the other thing. Stuff."

She opened her mouth to insist on a less evasive answer, but then he fixed her with a look that said, unmistakably, _Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies,_ and she let the matter drop. His outfit, alone, spoke volumes: he was dressed head to toe, as usual, in black, but this morning's canvas shoes, baggy trousers and long-sleeved turtle-neck evoked the stock movie character of a cat burglar: he was Edwin Brennan Booth, man of mystery, gentleman thief. She wondered if he had a black ski-mask secreted somewhere on his person.

Rudesby had been correct in one respect: all seven grandchildren had trust funds established in their names, and could live very comfortably on that income alone. They were free to work or not, as they chose, with the result that they could pursue careers that appealed to them without regard to stipend. Of the four who were of an age to collect a monthly check, three were gainfully employed. Stinson, of the humorless bent and incredible knack for numbers, had gravitated naturally into the field of theoretical mathematics, and was the author of numerous journal articles and a faculty member at a prestigious area university. Bonnie had followed her passion for beauty into art conservation, and Junior, a teaching assistant in his first year of graduate school, was continuing his study of world ecosystems with a view to joining the fight to save the planet, quite literally. That left Eddie.

With his great personal charm, lead-actor good-looks and razor-sharp intelligence, Eddie could have made a go of any number of professions, and he had dabbled in more than a few. He had amused himself by strutting the cat-walks as a male model for a season, had tried his hand at car-racing and horse-breeding, had acted both in college and in small-budget movies, and had worked as a bodyguard and bouncer as a lark. He ran with a fast crowd, and, though he lived well beyond his means, he never seemed to want for money. Something of a numbers whiz himself, Eddie was said to have parleyed a fairly small stake into a huge nest egg by counting cards at the blackjack tables of Reno and Vegas, a rumor substantiated by the fact the Eddie was now barred from gambling in those towns. He was, ostensibly, a bon vivant, dilettante, carefree playboy, but that, Bonnie strongly suspected, was a convenient screen for certain risky, more adventurous activities. There was far more to Eddie Booth than met the eye.

"Of the two of us," Eddie said now, a twinkle having replaced the look of warning, "seems to me _you're_ the one with significant news. 'Course, I wasn't best pleased about having to learn the glad tidings from social media…"

Bonnie looked from her teasing cousin to her expressionless grandfather and back again. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Better show her," Grandpa B said grimly.

Eddie collected his vid player from a back pocket, set the queued-up video going, and handed it over. On the small screen, against the elegant backdrop of La Coupole's candlelit dining room, Trev reached out, took her hand, and, eyes fixed on hers, began speaking in obvious earnest. The recording equipment had not been able to pick up his words, but his opening the little blue box and setting it before her needed no audio explanation. Bonnie saw her face soften with wonder at the sight of the gorgeous diamond ring, saw the glint of tears in her eyes, saw herself lean in and kiss Trev lingeringly. The image dissolved, to be replaced by the words: _Trevor Wyndham-Pryce and Bonita Booth-Hodgins, Winners at Love_. "No!" she whispered, feeling herself go cold and her stomach drop sickeningly. "This can't be…"

"What'd I tell you?" her grandfather said to Eddie.

Eddie gently removed the device from her hand. "You didn't know anything about this?"

Hand over her mouth against the rising nausea, Bonnie shook her head.

"No, of course not," he said, sober now. "What was I thinking? Still, what's the big deal, right? People were going to find out eventually…" His grandfather's stern expression gave him pause, and he looked more closely at his distressed cousin. "You don't mean to tell me…" He spared a quick glance at her left hand. "You _refused_ him? Great balls of fire," he exclaimed, when she nodded. "This _is_ bad."

Her grandfather laid a comforting hand on her arm. "Who did this thing, Tootsie Roll? Any idea?"

"No. I never thought… I didn't see… Oh!" She sat up straight, suddenly galvanized by near certainty as to the culprit. "It has to be!"

"Who?" Gramps said, and "Spill!" said Eddie.

"Wick-Sweets. He was there at the restaurant last night. Oh, the low-down, no-good viper! I'm going to have his guts for garters!"

"I don't know what that entails, exactly," Eddie said, "but it sounds good and violent. I want in."


	8. Chapter 8: Damage

8\. Damage

Eddie could never be persuaded, afterward, to describe precisely how he convinced Wick-Sweets to remove his provocative video from circulation, but, as the stealth videographer was spotted over the next week wearing wrap-around sunglasses both day and night, and speaking with less than his usual crisp diction, it was generally assumed Eddie had not limited himself to well-reasoned arguments.

In any event, by the time the video was taken down, the damage had largely been done, and it only remained to determine on a strategy for minimizing it. The young male voices in the family conclave were all of one opinion.

"You're going to have to take one for the team," Eddie told Bonnie.

"Yeah," Junior agreed. "You can't hang Trev out to dry! That would be cruel!"

"Better just go with the flow for now," Max nodded. "Then, in a couple of months or so, you guys can pretend to have fight and call it all off. Much less embarrassing for the poor guy."

"You don't actually have to marry him," Eddie assured her kindly. "If you don't want to."

"A fake engagement? That's your recommendation?" Grandpa B looked at each of his grandsons in open exasperation. "This is Bonbon we're talking about here, remember? How long before somebody sees right through her play-acting? A couple of months? Bah! She couldn't carry it off even for a day!"

"And, there's no reason she should have to," Christine Booth-Hodgins said in her typically decisive manner. Her mother was so rarely in her corner that Bonnie could only stare in surprise. "Trev made an extremely foolish decision to propose in public, and it's for him to bear the unpleasant consequences of that error." She pinned her nephew and then each of her sons with her uncompromising glare. "I trust you will learn from his misstep, and behave with more circumspection when it comes your turn to propose marriage."

Eddie threw his hands up in protest. "Don't look at me, Aunt Christine! I'm not in the market."

"You won't be until suddenly you are," she announced cryptically, and set off to stamp out the next fire.

When applied to for his thoughts on the matter, Trev's reply was, essentially, the same as Christine's. "It was a boneheaded move on my part. My family's been in the public eye long enough for me to know better."

"But, it wasn't the paparazzi! It was a former member of my family!"

"That doesn't make you responsible, and, besides, it wasn't like I didn't know what he was capable of. So, it'll be awkward for a few days. It'll blow over soon enough. I love you for being willing to cover for me, Bonnie, but I'm a big boy. I can take my lumps."

There followed an afternoon of fielding vid-chats from excited relations and friends, among the first of whom was her Grammy A. " _Ma chère petite, raconte-moi tout_!" Bonnie obeyed, and recounted the proposal from start to finish, watching as her grandmother's radiant expression gradually dimmed and finally turned pitying. " _Ah! Que je suis désolée_!" With subsequent well-wishers, Bonnie was less forthcoming, and, channeling her inner Mark Twain, told one after the other, succinctly, that reports of her engagement had been greatly exaggerated.

There was no respite at the Jeffersonian the next morning, either. Bonnie's fellow interns in the workroom, most of whom were female, were agog to hear all the details of her romantic night, and eager to see her ring. They balked at believing she had turned down so fabulous a matrimonial prize as Trevor Wyndham-Pryce, preferring to put her denials down to an understandable, if snobbish, insistence on protecting her privacy, but Bonnie maintained her version of events so stubbornly, they had at last no choice but to take her at her word.

Later that morning, she received a summons to Dr. Baer's office. She found him seated at his desk, careless as usual in his appearance, his plaid flannel shirt as rumpled and unkempt as his dark, wavy hair. At her entrance, he lifted his gray eyes from the document he'd been examining, sat back in his chair, and studied her for a long moment without speaking.

Bonnie endured this scrutiny, determined not to be the one to break the silence, but then caved first. "You wanted to see me?"

"It has come to my attention, Miss Booth-Hodgins," he said, in the patronizing tone she found so grating, "that your circumstances have changed materially over the last few days, and that, as a result, you may be actively tempted to give up your fellowship. I am no expert in these matters, certainly, but I appreciate that much of your focus and energy in the coming months will be taken up with such vital activities as evaluating likely venues, picking out china and silverware patterns, preparing guest lists and so forth. I fully understand, given these new and varied demands on your time, that your work here might not hold as much interest for you as it has to date. My only request is that you grant me a few weeks' notice, so that I can arrange for your replacement."

Bonnie concentrated on steadying her breathing so as not to betray her extreme irritation. "You have been misinformed, Dr. Baer. There has been no change in my circumstances, as you put it."

He raised his eyebrows, as if mildly interested. "Is that so? You are not, then, engaged to be married to the prospective heir to Virginia's premier political dynasty?"

His reductive characterization of Trev further set her back up. "Not at this time, no."

"Ah! I begin to see… You're indulging your prerogative not to acquiesce the first time your suitor offers, all the while reserving the right to accept at a later date. I must say you surprise me. I did not have you pegged as the coy type."

"Dr. Baer," Bonnie bit out, "with respect, the choices I make in my personal life are none of your concern. You may be assured that I have no intention of abandoning my fellowship, and that I will continue to devote myself to carrying out my responsibilities here to the very best of my abilities."

He regarded her squarely, and then, as if convinced of her sincerity, nodded briefly. "In that case, Miss Booth-Hodgins, you greatly relieve my mind. I am glad to know that the three months I have invested in your training have not been wasted, and that the team will not need to lose valuable time bringing a replacement up to speed. Thank you for your candor. I believe that is all." He took up the document he had been perusing, effectively dismissing her.

She had turned on her heel and was all but out the door when he said to her back, "If my remarks offended you in any way, please accept my apologies." She was too stunned to do more than bob a quick nod, and hurry back to the canvas awaiting her ministrations in the workroom.


	9. Chapter 9: Valeria

9\. Valeria

Trev proved right: by the end of the week, his failed proposal was old news, and might as well never have happened. This was especially true at the Jeffersonian, where new scenes in a continuing drama cropped up to create a compelling diversion. The fact that the central action took place behind the assistant painting conservator's closed door did not lessen its fascination or curtail the captive audience's ability to follow developments. Valeria Dunbar, Dr. Baer's ex-wife, had an unusually penetrating voice, and, apparently, no compunction about using it at top volume. Her loud complaints, demands and recriminations reached the workroom somewhat muffled by distance and intervening walls, but not to such an extent that the gist of her displeasure was lost. Dr. Baer's responses were less intelligible, more closely resembling the low growl of some aggravated beast with the occasional roar thrown in. Scene endings were generally signaled by the thunderous clap of a slamming door and the staccato click of high heels receding down the main hall.

This week's theme was Dr. Baer's consummate selfishness and small-minded desire to punish his former wife for having had the temerity to leave him. There was some extraordinary opportunity or other of which Valeria might avail herself if only her ex would lend her something by way of support, but this he withheld, out of meanness and spite, if her ranting was to be believed. She was routed on her first attempt to achieve her purpose, but returned to the attack the very next day and the entire scene was re-enacted without, for all that, any greater success on her part. In her furious exit, she very nearly crashed into Bonnie who was innocently returning from a trip to the washroom. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Valeria shouted, her features flushed and contorted in anger. "Look where you're going, why don't you?"

It was quite a different face Valeria presented the next time she and Bonnie met. The Conservation Room was beginning to empty out for the week-end; interns, fellows and permanent staff members were storing away their instruments and tools, and securing their work stations. Mother-hen Gabby Franklin was rounding up the Friday Night Regulars for their weekly visit to a local bar, and while Bonnie usually made up one of their number, this evening she could, according to her calculations, finish her month-long project of removing the yellow varnish from an early twentieth-century landscape with only a half-hour's more work, and she was eager to be done. She had enjoyed uncovering the brilliant white, deep black and vibrant colors of the painter's original palette, but she had nothing left to learn from the experience and was ready for a new challenge. "I'll catch up with you," she called after Gabby, "if I can."

Bonnie was preparing a new cotton tip for her cleaning wand when Valeria Dunbar stepped over the threshold of the workroom and began looking about her, as if searching for something or someone she'd misplaced. She was, as usual, turned out in an eye-catching rather than tasteful style: her black leather skirt was a tad too short, her snake-skin stilettos a bit too high, and the v-neck of her jersey wrap-top, under a short-waisted jacket, left little doubt as to her assets, draped though they were in numerous gold chains. Her long hair, brushed back off a high forehead, fell in jagged layers, and looked to have not only the color but also the brittleness of straw. She had applied her make-up with her customary heavy hand, obscuring rather than enhancing the natural beauty of her wide, blue eyes, column-straight nose, and full lips. "Excuse me," she called, hailing Bonnie in an unexpectedly cordial manner, "I'm looking for Dolph. You wouldn't happen to know where he is?"

Valeria walked further into the room, as if to spare Bonnie the necessity of shouting her answer, and it was only then that Bonnie noticed the youngster trailing along in her wake. It could only be Danny, the five-year-old son Valeria shared with Dr. Baer, and, as such, the object of much speculation and pity in the workroom. To Bonnie's admittedly inexperienced eyes, Danny seemed smaller and slighter than other children his age, although that could have been the effect of his being out-fitted in clothes that were at least a size too large. His Washington Nationals ball cap came down over his ears, shading his eyes and masking his hair; the cuffs of his zippered sweatshirt had been folded back over his wrists at least twice and the hem of his shorts fell well below his knees. He carried a vinyl backpack, which given the ease with which he wore it, must have been virtually empty. Turning back to his mother, Bonnie said, lamely even to her own ears, "Did you check Dr. Baer's office?"

Valeria nodded and continued to approach. "I knocked, but got no reply."

"He may have stepped out for a minute." Or, given that it was after normal quitting time, he might have left for the day. "Was he expecting you?"

"Yes, that's what's so odd. We had arranged that I would drop Danny off here at five, but I ran late on account of traffic." She came to a stop by Bonnie's easel, and smiled pleasantly. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced, Miss…" She leaned forward to read the small print of Bonnie's ID badge. "…Booth-Hodgins. I'm Val Dunbar, and this…" She motioned the little boy closer, and when he was within reach, relieved him of his cap, and ruffled his fly-away light brown hair. "… is my son, Danny."

"Pleased to meet you both." Bonnie bent forward and peered into Danny's elfin face. He had inherited his father's gray eyes, but none of his boldness. "I'd offer to shake, but…" She lifted her hands and set her gloved phalanges dancing. Danny rewarded her foolishness with a shy smile.

"I really don't know what could be keeping him," Val said, fretfully. "Is he in a meeting, do you think?"

Bonnie suppressed a sigh, and set her cleaning wand aside. "I really couldn't say, Ms. Dunbar. I'm not privy to Dr. Baer's schedule."

"Please, call me Val… er…" She tipped slightly forward, and, narrowing her eyes, read… "Bonnie. I must say, you're super devoted to be staying late on a Friday. And, by the way, that painting looks fantastic, all cleaned up. I can see Dolph is right about your potential."

Bonnie's irritation at having her work interrupted gave way to surprise. "Dr. Baer has mentioned me?"

"Oh, yes. Unless… is there another intern with a hyphenated name? A Higgin-Botham, maybe? I'm terrific with faces, but names…?" She shook her head ruefully.

"No, there's only me." Bonnie's curiosity had been piqued, and she was strongly tempted to ask for particulars, but it went against her principles to stoop to gossip. "I hope you won't think me rude, Val, but I have this small section still to finish…"

"Oh! Yes, of course. I apologize." Instead of moving off, however, she retrieved her vid-screen from an outside pocket of her gargantuan shoulder bag, and, consulting the display, frowned in consternation. She continued to hold the device, but her eyes strayed from the screen, unfocused, while her teeth scraped the deep-pink gloss from her lower lip. At length, she turned a worried, uncertain look down at Danny and muttered a quick, "What to do? What to do?" Her son gazed back at up her, interested but unhelpful.

Val looked up at Bonnie with sudden resolve, a desperate hope in her expression. "Bonnie, I know this is a lot to ask, but you're planning to be here a while longer in any case, and I know Dolph has absolute confidence in you, or, believe me, I would never so much as consider this, but if I don't leave this very minute, I'm going to miss my train, and my very best chance…"

Bonnie sat up in alarm. "Really, Val, I don't think…"

"Dolph is sure to be back any minute," Val went on hurriedly, "And, Danny won't be the slightest trouble. You'll see, you'll barely notice he's here." She smoothed the hair over his crown, and bending down, kissed his forehead. "You be good for Miss Bonnie until Daddy comes for you, okay? Mommy will see you in a few days. Love you." She straightened, and, finding Danny's ball cap still tucked under her arm, fit it back on his head. "Thank you so much for this," she said to Bonnie, all in a rush. "You're a life-saver, that's what you are. A living doll."

Bonnie opened her mouth to object yet again, but Valeria Dunbar was already tottering away at speed toward the open door. She passed through the exit without once looking back.


	10. Chapter 10: Danny

10\. Danny

Bonnie considered Danny, standing so still before her, with trepidation. Her experience with very young children, if distilled into a liquid, would not have filled a faery's thimble. At least, she consoled herself, he showed no indication of flinging himself frantically after his mother, or breaking down into copious tears. "So, Danny…" she began cautiously, "it looks like it's you and me for a bit. You want to sit down? I can pull up a chair for you."

Danny looked about at the seats on offer, and shook his head. He moved up to Bonnie's side, and stood staring at the landscape.

Taking this as a favorable sign, Bonnie took up her cleaning wand, and dipped it slowly into the jar of solvent. "You know, Danny, I'm very glad you're here. Removing old varnish from beautiful paintings is important work, but it can get tedious. I mean, boring," she added hastily. She rolled the cotton tip gently over the painting's surface, coaxing the yellow layer off. "With you to keep me company, the work won't be so dull." Danny said nothing, intent on watching the once-white swab collect its burden of dirt. "So, Danny, tell me… ah… how old are you?" Bonnie knew the answer, but she seemed to remember it was the first question adults would put to her when she was a child.

Danny lifted his right hand, and splayed his fingers: five.

"I see. And, do you go to school?"

He nodded a decided 'yes' to that question, and to each of the subsequent, such that Bonnie learned a number of things about Danny (he did, indeed, like school, his teacher was very nice, he had lots of friends) without once having heard him speak. She removed the soiled tip from her wand, and prepared another. "What's your favorite thing to do at school?" she ventured.

"Draw pictures," Danny said without hesitation. He had a high, sweet voice, and an endearing inability to pronounce his r's.

"Well, that's something we have in common, then. What's your favorite thing to draw?"

"Dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs," Bonnie repeated, doing her best to sound impressed. Her brother Junior's first love had been all things Jurassic, and Max, perhaps in emulation, had gone through a "terrible lizard" phase of his own. Bonnie was on very familiar ground. "I like the plant-eaters, like brontosaurus and iguanadon, myself. How about you?"

"Stegosaurus," Danny replied with great certainty, only to correct himself, "No, triceratops!"

Bonnie was hit by a sudden brainstorm. "Danny, if I give you a big sheet of paper, and some pencils, do you think you could do a dinosaur drawing for me? Any dinosaur you want, except Tyrannosaurus Rex. He's too scary!"

Already in the process of shrugging off his backpack, Danny grinned at her hugely, displaying a fine set of small, even teeth. "Oh, Miss Bonnie! You're so silly. Dinosaurs can't hurt you. They're all 'xtinct!"

"You've got me there," she admitted, with a laugh, "but there are still plenty of creatures in the world today with great, big jaws full of razor-sharp teeth, like lions and tigers."

"And bears," Danny added, with a knowing nod.

"And Baers," Bonnie agreed.

She tore off a generous piece of the white butcher paper they used to envelope finished paintings for transport, and would have set Danny up at a nearby table, but he preferred to stretch out on the floor and bring forth his creation while lying flat on his stomach. He was immediately engrossed in his project, leaving Bonnie free to return the greater part of her attention to her task.

The last square-inch section proved especially delicate to treat, forcing Bonnie to lower the lenses of her magnifying headset and focus minutely on the resistant patch. Finally, convinced that not a single particle of varnish remained, she settled back with a satisfied sigh, and, pulling her headset off, looked down to check on Danny, only to find that he had fallen asleep, his head pillowed on one arm, a pencil loose in his limp hand. She was thinking how very cute he was in his peaceful abandon when a dry cough some feet away alerted her to a new presence in the room. Glancing around, she saw her supervisor just inside the workroom door. "Oh, Dr. Baer, _there_ you are!" she said with some relief. A quick peek at her wrist watch informed her that Val's "any minute" had become a full three quarters of an hour.

Dr. Baer's dark brows knit together, and he regarded her narrowly. "Here I am, indeed, Miss Booth-Hodgins. If I don't mistake, your tone implies you've been expecting me for some time, though why that should be the case, I am sure I have no idea." He started toward her unhurriedly. "If you were hoping I'd happen by and be favorably impressed by your zeal and dedication… Whoa!" He was brought up almost comically short by the sight of the little body sprawled on the floor. "What in the world…?"

Not wanting the little boy to be startled into wakefulness, Bonnie stepped in front of Dr. Baer. "Danny's fine. He just fell asleep waiting for you."

"Danny? Danny, who?" His eyes rounded suddenly, and the color drained from his face. "No!" he breathed out. "No, it can't…!" He brushed past her unceremoniously, and in two strides, was kneeling by his son, his big hand gently cupping one small shoulder, his head bent low. "Hey there, sleepy head, hey now," he said softly. "Time to wake up, buddy."

Danny, his nap disturbed, grumbled crankily at first, and then, recognizing his father's voice, slowly blinked his eyes open. "Hi, Daddy," he said, drowsily. "Mommy said you'd come."

"She did, did she? Okay, now, easy does it. Up you go." Once Danny was in a sitting position, Dr. Baer gathered him into his arms, and hugged him tight. "Did you wait a long time? You know I'd've come a lot sooner if I'd known you were here, right?"

"It's okay. I was making a dinosaur for Miss Bonnie. Want to see?"

"You bet I do!" He allowed Danny to scramble off his lap, and together they bent over the drawing of a creature that, from the last glimpse Bonnie had had of it, resembled nothing so much as a python with a greatly distended abdomen. "Wow, that's really good! It's not done, though, is it? I don't see any legs."

"It's a plesiosaur, Daddy," Danny explained with a child's condescension. "It needs flippers, not legs!"

"A plesiosaur, of course! That's obvious as can be. So, listen: do you want to finish your drawing for Miss…er… Bonnie now, or shall we take it home…" Danny, however, had already taken up a pencil, so Dr. Baer moved obligingly out of his way, and rose to his feet. "Okay, then. Take your time. I'll be just over here…"

The words "if I'd known" had been echoing in Bonnie's mind since she'd heard Dr. Baer utter them, and what they implied of her role in this family drama filled her with a kind of horror and helpless chagrin. "I'm so sorry," she said, as he approached her. "I just assumed…"

"It's not for you to apologize." Dr. Baer spoke with his usual curtness, but Bonnie didn't sense any anger, at least not toward herself. "You're not to blame. She took advantage of you; that's what she does. I don't doubt she told you it was all arranged, she was supposed to leave Danny here with me."

Bonnie nodded unhappily. "She said she knocked on your office door…"

"She lied. Another of her specialties. I was stuck in a teleconference with some West Coast colleagues from about four-thirty until a few minutes ago. If she'd knocked, I'd've heard her, but she wouldn't've tried. It wasn't in her interests to find me. I told her 'no' twice already this week. She knew, if she wanted to get her way, she was going to have to force my hand. So, that's what she did, with you as her unwitting accomplice."

Bonnie heard them again, those shrill accusations of selfishness, meanness and vengefulness that had pierced the tranquility of the conservation workroom. All the shouting had been about this, she realized, about who would assume responsibility for Danny. She deduced that it was Val's week-end to be in charge, and that she had petitioned her ex, as a favor, to switch or simply to fill in for her, and that Dr. Baer had refused, provoking Val to resort to her rash and reprehensible ploy. "I don't understand," she said, thinking out loud, "and I know it's not my business, but… why did she feel she had to maneuver you into this? Couldn't you have just taken Danny for the week-end?"

She felt him stiffen beside her, and knew, to her dismay, that she had crossed the line and inadvertently given offense. She was about to withdraw the question, with apologies, when he said, "It is, as you say, none of your business, Miss Booth-Hodgins, but you've been dragged into this through not fault of your own, so you are, perhaps, entitled to an explanation. To be clear, Danny is the most important person in my world, and I would like nothing better than to have him live with me on a permanent basis. If I ever have the chance to gain full custody, I will fight for it, tooth and nail. As for this week-end, Val was under no illusion as to my availability. She knew, because I reminded her repeatedly, that I have a long-standing professional commitment tomorrow."

"Oh, yes! Of course: the Jeff Outreach." Twice yearly, the Jeffersonian invited the public to bring in their privately-held artworks and artifacts for potential acceptance into a no-fee restoration program. Conservators were on hand all day to assess each item's treatment needs with an eye to choosing projects which would prove both technically challenging and not excessively difficult for the trainees in the museum's various conservation departments. Owners of selected items received, in time, a professionally-conserved heirloom at no charge while the museum sourced quality pieces on which its students could hone their practical skills: a win-win for everyone involved. The event had entirely slipped Bonnie's mind as Outreach, while of immense importance to the museum's conservation initiative, had no scope for intern participation. "I expect the turnout will be enormous, as usual."

"Which is the reason all qualified staff members are required to take part, but, of course, Val couldn't let _that_ stand in the way of an all-expense-paid week-end getaway to Atlantic City with her tony pals." The bitterness and scorn were back in his voice, an ugly, unpleasant sound. Dr. Baer sighed wearily. "We've imposed entirely too much on your time and good nature, Miss Booth-Hodgins. I'll just see about getting you that drawing, so you can resume whatever plans you had for the evening. Thank you, sincerely, for looking after Danny. I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn't been here. And, my apologies for the inconvenience you've been put to." With that, he turned back to his son.


	11. Chapter 11: Offer

11\. Offer

"Dr. Baer, wait!" Bonnie couldn't have said, precisely, what impelled her; not guilt, certainly, as she was only tangentially responsible for his unfortunate predicament. She might have been moved by remorse for having injured him, however unintentionally, or by pity for a child whose mother could use him so cavalierly, or it might have been no more than the very human impulse to offer assistance when need and opportunity coincide. Whatever it was that prompted her, she reached out a hand to stop him. "About tomorrow," she said, when he paused and raised an eyebrow at her. "I… I'd like to help. You may not think I have the necessary expertise…"

He burst out in a short laugh, but not of the unkind sort. He looked, for once, genuinely amused. "You don't suffer any lack of chutzpah, I'll give you that. You'll be able to do my job someday, Miss Booth-Hodgins, but tomorrow is not that day."

"Oh, no! No, that's not it at all!" Bonnie was flustered and appalled by his misjudgment. Did he really think her so conceited? "I meant, my lack of experience and training as a child-minder. I have two younger brothers, and I baby-sat a few times for my cousins when they were little boys, but, apart from that, I haven't interacted very much with small children. Still, how difficult can it be, right?"

As Dr. Baer listened to this speech, the humor faded from his face, to be replaced first by a flash of self-consciousness and then, by an intent expression that might have signaled incomprehension, incredulity or some mixture of both. He didn't respond immediately to her implied offer, but stood considering her, as if she were a puzzle that needed solving. "That is very generous on your part," he said, at last, "But, no. Thank you. It's too much to ask."

"You don't have to ask. I'm volunteering." Although the demands of the Good Samaritan within her had been satisfied, Bonnie persisted, for some reason. "I appreciate that you don't know me very well, and have no reason to trust me with Danny's care, but I assure you that I am, really, a responsible, well-intentioned person, and, if you insist on character references, there are a number of people I could…"

"Miss Booth-Hodgins," Dr. Baer cut in crisply. "Please stop. I've seen enough of your work to know you are meticulous and utterly reliable. But, taking responsibility for a child you hardly know, and who doesn't know you, and, moreover, for an eight hour stretch — you can't have any idea what you're letting yourself in for."

"Well, that's true, but I like to think I'm a resourceful person, and up to any challenge." She sensed he was beginning to waver, and pressed her advantage. "Here's a suggestion: why not let Danny decide? If he doesn't want to spend the day with me, then, of course, it's out of the question."

In a demonstration of excellent timing, Danny chose that very moment to pick himself and his masterpiece off the floor and present it proudly to Bonnie. He pointed to the sea monster's head, which featured a slit of a mouth crowded with tiny acute triangles. "Plesiosaurs have sharp teeth," he acknowledged, apologetically, "but they're only small."

Bonnie did not need to feign admiration: Danny's foot-long dinosaur, while clumsy in some respects, was charmingly executed: the proportions were pleasing, the sea creature's expression was appropriately fearsome and savage, and the positioning of the flippers lent the picture a suggestion of movement. Most impressively, Danny had used little dots and circles along the upper half of the body to differentiate the dorsal side from the underbelly. "This," she pronounced, "is a most remarkable plesiosaur. I may just have to get this framed so I can hang it in my room. Thank you, Danny."

The young artist beamed with pleasure at Bonnie's praise, and turned to share his triumph with his father. Dr. Baer ruffled the boy's hair and winked his congratulations.

Bonnie ran her eyes over the drawing a last time. "You know, Danny, seeing this picture makes me realize it's been too long since I visited the dinosaur exhibits here at the museum. I don't have to work tomorrow, so I _could_ go, but…" She paused for dramatic effect, and then pulled a glum face.

"But… what, Miss Bonnie?"

"Well, it's not much fun going all alone." She tipped her head to one side, and regarded him thoughtfully. "You love dinosaurs, Danny… Do you suppose you could keep me company, like you did this afternoon? I'd really like that. We could bring our sketch pads, and do more drawings." Bonnie rolled the sheet of butcher paper into a tube, and, reaching into her lab coat pocket, withdrew one of the coated rubber bands she kept at the ready to secure her shoulder-length hair into a pony tail. "Oh, and I hear there's a new bone room where you can articulate your own model dinosaur skeleton."

Danny brightened with excitement. "You can make a fossil, there, too!"

"A fossil," she repeated, in mock-perplexity. "Really? I thought that took millions of years."

Danny laughed at her naiveté. "It's _pretend_ ," he explained, "but it's still really neat. I made a sea snail fossil."

"I bet it's beautiful." She retrieved Danny's backpack from the floor, and helped him thread his arms through the straps. "Was it hard to do?"

"No, it was easy-peasy." She looked so dubious at this, that he offered, "I can show you."

"Would you, really, Danny? That would be so great!" Bonnie brushed some stray cotton fluff from the crown of Danny's ball cap, and held it out to him. "I suppose, though, we should really ask your father's permission, first. He may already have plans for you tomorrow."

Danny spun round to his father, the look on his upturned face one of mingled anxiety and hope. "Can I go, Daddy?" Dr. Baer hesitated, and Danny, reading some trouble in his father's expression, added kindly, "You can come, too." He looked back at Bonnie for confirmation.

Bonnie shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "If he wants."

Dr. Baer caught her eye, and, lips twitching, shook his head just barely in rueful admiration. "I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, buddy. If you really think you could have a good time with Miss… Bonnie, of course you can go. It's up to you."

Danny's face split into its widest grin yet, and his gray eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "It's okay, Miss Bonnie! I can come!"

The three walked out together, consolidating plans for the next day as they traversed the deserted halls and rode the elevator down to the ground level. Danny held his father's hand, and bobbed happily between the two adults busily making arrangements for his entertainment over his head. Outside the main exit, as they prepared to go their separate way, Dr. Baer pulled up, and turning to Bonnie, said in a low voice, "You are a redoubtable woman, Miss Booth-Hodgins. I can see it would be a mistake to underestimate you." He smiled wryly, and nodded in farewell. "Enjoy your evening."

As she headed for the SteerE pick-up area, Bonnie turned Dr. Baer's parting remarks over in her mind. _A redoubtable woman_ … She smiled to herself. She rather liked the sound of that.


	12. Chapter 12: Expedition

12\. Expedition

Bonnie spent a very enjoyable evening, as it happened. With her brothers' permission, she poked into the deep recesses of their closets, and explored both basement and attic storage areas until she found the boxes and bins that contained the remnants of their boyhood dinosaur mania. The containers disgorged a wide variety of materials, although, as she had anticipated, toy dinosaurs predominated. These ranged from cheap plastic figures and homey stuffed animals to large, finely-detailed models and expensive robotisaurs. Junior and Max had been on their way out to meet friends, but, one gander at their old animatronic "pets" had them dropping down on the toy-strewn floor to put the carnivorous D-Rex and the herbivorous Cetio through their computerized paces. After that, there was no getting rid of them; they insisted on "helping" Bonnie sort through the collection, creating ever greater chaos out of the original order, but doing so with so much pleasure and brio in reacquainting themselves with their old possessions that Bonnie couldn't begrudge them the added work they made for her. They proved generous, too, in the end, agreeing to part with many of their things, including a well-thumbed hardcover copy of Syd Hoff's classic Danny and the Dinosaur.

"I loved this book," Junior sighed, flipping one last time through its pages.

"It's the first book I read by myself cover-to-cover," Max reminisced. "There are a couple of sequels, too, I remember: one, about a birthday party, and another where the dinosaur goes to Danny's summer camp. I don't think we owned those, though."

"I'll see if I can download them to my vid-screen," Bonnie said. "Thanks for the heads-up."

By the time she'd filled her canvas messenger bag with an assortment of toys, stickers, art supplies and snacks, and returned the repackaged boxes and bins to storage, there was only a half hour or so to her grandfather's usual bedtime, so she raced to his suite for a last minute catch-up and to wish him a good night. She found him sitting up in his recliner, leafing through the pages of an expensively-bound maroon-leather book, the contents of which were well-known to both of them. He shut the book at the sight of her, and smiled in welcome. "Sorry to be so late, Gramps!" She bent down and pressed a kiss on his raddled cheek. "I'm going on an expedition tomorrow, and I had to gather my supplies."

"An expedition, eh?" His voice sounded somewhat rusty, as if from disuse. "Tell me about it."

Knowing, as she did, her grandfather's particular sensitivity to instances of maternal negligence, she'd had it in mind to gloss over the details of how she'd come to volunteer for a day of child-care, but her long commute home had afforded her the time to reflect on Valeria Dunbar's behavior, and the more she examined it, the more troubling she found it. Dr. Baer had not come into the workroom looking for Danny which could only mean that, even a full forty-five minutes after she'd left, Val had not informed her ex of what she'd done. What if, in his ignorance, Dr. Baer had simply gone home after the conclusion of his teleconference? What would Bonnie have done when, as must eventually have happened, she'd sought him out in his office, and found no one there? She had no contact numbers for him, and, unless that critical information was secreted somewhere in Danny's backpack, she would have been obliged to call museum security for help. As time passed, and his father failed to appear, Danny would certainly have grown frightened, especially if Bonnie had been unable to mask her own feelings of anxiety and confusion. What a nightmare it might have been!

These thoughts disturbed her to such an extent that Bonnie decided to lay the whole truth before her grandfather after all. "You were a law-enforcement officer," she said, upon recounting the incident. "Would you say that constitutes child endangerment?"

Her grandfather considered the evidence. "This woman doesn't know you from Adam, you say?"

Bonnie shook her head. "In fact, she had to read my name off my ID badge. All she knows about me is that I work in the painting conservation department of the Jeffersonian. She had absolutely no reason to entrust her child to me."

"Except for your honest face, Caramella. No one who looks as sweet as you could possibly have evil intentions. Still," he went on, his tone hardening. "Her actions are unconscionable. Makes you wonder if she pulls this kind of stunt regularly."

This had not yet occurred to Bonnie, but… "Dr. Baer did say he'd sue for full custody if she ever gave him an opening. You don't separate a child from his mother if you think he's receiving adequate care, do you?"

"This Dr. Baer fellow… He's the unsuitable man you told me about last week." It wasn't framed as a question, but Grandpa B smiled smugly just the same to see her slack-jawed reaction. "Just because I'm old, doesn't mean I'm soft in the head. Acrimonious divorce, five-year-old child, custody battles… I'm still plenty sharp enough to add all that up."

"No fair, Gramps! Nonagenarians are supposed to have a lousy memory for recent events. I'm going to have to watch myself around you."

"Bah! It's that Baer woman needs watching, if you ask me."

"Her name's not Baer, it's…" Bonnie caught her grandfather's subtle lean forward, and stopped herself just in time. "Gramps, you sly boots! I see what you're up to, and, trust me, you are _not_ getting involved in this. Don't make me sorry I took you into my confidence!"

"Get involved," he scoffed, waving her suspicions off irritably. "And, how would I do that, exactly? You may have noticed I'm hardly in shape to tail the woman myself, and everyone I've ever known at the Bureau or the D. C. police force is either dead or retired."

Bonnie continued to regard him sternly. "That 'poor, pitiful me' routine is not going to work with me, Gramps. You're a sneaky old coot, and don't think for a minute I'm not on to you! Now, if you really want to be helpful, you can give me your best advice on how to deal with five-year-old boys. After raising two sons and six grandsons, you've got to have loads of great tips."

Grandpa B eyed her unfavorably, but, after a moment, let go of his displeasure enough to grumble, "Just don't patronize the kid. Don't do his thinking for him, and, within reasonable limits, follow his lead. Go with your gut, Chuckles. And, when all else fails…"

He had Bonnie on the edge of her ottoman. "What?"

"Ice cream. And, lots of it."

Her grandfather had never steered her wrong, and his counsel, when put into practice the next day, served her very well. As might have been expected, the roughest patch occurred right at the outset, but it was Dr. Baer, with his endless reminders, recommendations, requests and requirements who proved difficult, not Danny. Her little side-kick, looking less of a kindergartener than ever in better-fitting, gently-worn clothes, accepted the hand she held out to him without hesitation and turned back only once to wave a cheerful farewell.

They began their expedition, as planned, in the dinosaur hall, where the age-browned skeletons of an attacking T-Rex and his triceratops prey commanded center stage. On either side of their raised island, smaller, but still massive, dinosaurs stood in their characteristic poses or were partially embedded into the matrix of floor or wall. For all his excitement, Danny did not flit from one display to another, but poured over each exhibit, identifying each creature in turn, and relating some fact or tidbit about their size, features or habits he found particularly interesting. His managing with ease such complicated names as "archaeopteryx" and "pachycephalosaur" in his little child's voice charmed smiles from other visitors, many of whom lingered a few extra moments to listen to him talk. One mother, before shepherding her brood away, murmured in a congratulatory tone, "That's quite the little brainiac you've got there!" As the first hour passed into the second, Bonnie, as promised, took a picture of Danny studying the stegosaurus, and texted it to Dr. Baer.

They spent another sixty minutes in the exhibit's discovery room (photo of Danny preparing his scallop shell fossil), and, after that, sat in on a presentation regarding which dinosaurs would have called the D. C. area home during prehistoric times (photo of an eager Danny, hand in the air). Lunch at the museum café provided the day's second challenge, as crowding made securing seats difficult, and once that was accomplished, Danny would only take a few small bites of the peanut-butter and jelly sandwich his father had prepared for him. "I can't," he said, when Bonnie urged him to eat just a bit more. "I'm full."

"But you need food for energy," she protested. "We have a busy afternoon ahead." Not even the promise of ice cream induced him to change his mind (photo of Danny playing with the plastic apatosaurus she had rescued from storage while she finished her veggie burger).

At Danny's request, they abandoned the dinosaurs, and passed the next two hours companionably wandering the mammal and sea life exhibit halls (pictures of Danny mimicking the stance of a taxidermied orangutan, and staring up at the underbelly of a model blue whale suspended from the ceiling). Bonnie knew Danny was flagging when he made no objection to their returning to the café so she could have her afternoon tea. He obliged her by nibbling at his sandwich while they sat in the now largely deserted dining area, a partially-completed sticker book open between them (picture of Danny affixing dinosaur eggs in a hadrosaur's nest). When Dr. Baer came up to their table a short while later, he found them bent together over Danny and the Dinosaur, laughing over the pair's antics and admiring the funny illustrations.

"Oh, hello!" Bonnie said, as Dr. Baer, with a "Hey, there, buddy," squatted down on Danny's other side. "Is it that time already?"

"It's past five," he managed through the stranglehold of Danny's hug around his neck. "Place is closing in twenty minutes."

"Daddy, Miss Bonnie brought me a book about a boy with my name!"

"A book" Bonnie added, with a lift of her brows, "that _Danny_ read out loud to _me_."

Danny confirmed this with a nod. "Miss Bonnie said I'm a pwoddity. That's a good thing, right, Daddy?"

At Dr. Baer's helpless glance, Bonnie whispered, "Prodigy." And, then, more loudly, "It's a very good thing, Danny, and you're a very good companion. Thanks so much for coming with me today. I hope you had a good time."

"The bestest," he assured her.

"So, there's a second unsuitable man in my life," she sighed later that evening, as she and her grandfather shared a late supper of minestrone and french fries. "What is it with me and men, Gramps? Fate is so unkind."


	13. Chapter 13: Cocktails

13\. Cocktails

"Are you sure you're up to this?"

Grandpa B batted Bonnie's hands away from his necktie. "Stop fussing! If I'm going to spend five hundred dollars for a ticket, I may as well get something out of it, even if it's only inedible chicken."

"You know most of that money is going to fund Senator Wyndham-Pryce's re-election campaign, Gramps. Now, take your cane." Bonnie passed him the finely-turned ebony stick with its carved eagle-head grip. "You're going to need it to beat off the ladies." She took a step back, as if to assess his appearance, head to toe. "Yep. You've still got that dashing 'men in black' look going for you."

"Enough of your nonsense!" He crooked an elbow in invitation, and Bonnie obligingly threaded an arm through his. "The only thing people will notice about me is the eye candy I've got on my arm. You look like 100 Grand in that dress. Is it new?"

"This old thing?" She gestured from the funnel neck to the hem of the knee-length pleated skirt. While a recent acquisition, the garment was seriously old: it had originally been shown in Chanel's 2014 couture collection. A white, cinched-waist dress heavily-embellished with intricate gold beading all down the long sleeves and across the bodice, back and front, it featured a quality of workmanship and design that was rare to find in current fashion. Bonnie silently blessed the salesclerk at the vintage clothing store she patronized for having held it back for her. "It was made in Paris, many years before I was born."

"That right?" He looked at the opulent creation with new respect. "Guess some old things are worth hanging on to."

Bonnie gave her grandfather's arm a squeeze. "You know it, Gramps."

As planned, they were among the first to arrive for the cocktail portion of the gala event. Bonnie had wanted to be on hand early in case any last-minute tasks required doing, but everything was apparently set, thanks in no small part to a Miss Savannah Greeley, one of the campaign staffers charged with organizing and overseeing fundraising activities. "You'll meet her later," Trev assured Bonnie, as he welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek and a very warm smile. "And you, sir." He extended a hand to her grandfather. "It's so very good of you to come. I know my father really appreciates it. He'll want to thank you in person, but for now, can I show you to your table, or would you rather mingle out here in the atrium for a bit?"

"My legs can hold me for a time, I believe. If it's a scotch you're offering, now…"

Trev grinned. "Coming right up. You want your usual, Bonnie?"

"Don't worry about me." She picked a glass of white wine off the tray of a passing server. "I'll make do with one of these."

The atrium, unimaginatively decorated with red, white and blue bunting, napery and flower arrangements, was soon echoing with the boisterous conversation and tinkling laughter of elegantly-attired men and their bejeweled and expensively-gowned companions. A number of Grandpa B's one-time trainees and junior colleagues were in attendance, and not by accident, it turned out: the host committee had let it be known that FBI Associate Deputy Director Seeley Booth, retired, had accepted his invitation, and the prospect of seeing the man they considered their role model and mentor had induced them to spring for a two hundred dollar ticket to the cocktail party. To Bonnie's eyes, her grandfather, flanked on three sides by admirers, seemed to stand taller and straighter, rejuvenated by the positive energy and warm regard they radiated. Seeing his pleasure, she did not begrudge a penny of her five hundred dollar contribution, and that was before she discovered the exceedingly pleasant surprise awaiting them in the banquet hall.

A distinguished older gentleman had preceded them to the VIP table, and sat talking to one of their dinner companions for the evening, Freya Wyndham-Pryce. At their approach, he rose spryly to his feet, and smiled broadly in welcome. "Booth, old friend!" The Honorable James Aubrey, U. S. Senator from Virginia, stepped forward to greet his erstwhile partner, and took the hand held out to him in both of his own. "It's been too long! When I heard you were coming to this shindig, I had to drop by." He leaned in and murmured, mock-confidentially, "Word is, food's not half bad in this establishment. And the beauteous Bonnie," he continued more loudly, submitting to her peck on his cheek. "You look more like your grandmother every time I see you. I'll bet no one ever tells you that."

Bonnie chuckled at this blatant understatement. "Just you and Gramps, Senator. I'm glad to see you looking so well."

"Good, clean living, m'dear." Aubrey patted his barely-there paunch, and flashed his cocky grin. In addition to his trim figure, he retained much of his youthful good looks. His jet-black hair had turned winter-white with time, and was not as thick and lustrous over the crown as it had been, but he still boasted a fuller head of hair than most of his contemporaries. His face had not grown bloated and flabby, either: his cheeks had hollowed out, making the fine bone structure underlying his features more starkly apparent. The blue eyes were as piercing, both in color and acuity, as ever, and the crow's feet and laugh lines etched into his skin increased rather than detracted from his attractiveness. "And, there's the macrobiotic diet, of course. Jess insists on it, which is, frankly, why I attend as many of these affairs as I can get away with. A man's got to have a nice, juicy slab of prime rib every now and then, am I right? Oh, and speaking of Jess, she sends her regards. The old girl can't be bothered with these political dos. Drive her nuts, she says."

Booth shook his head good-naturedly at his former protégé. "Still yammering away a mile a minute, eh, Aubrey?" He clapped the younger man soundly on the shoulder. "All the same, you're a sight for sore eyes. So, fill me in. What's going on with you these days? Making those fat cats in Washington toe the line, are you?"

"Trying, anyway." Aubrey waited while Booth was settled in his seat, and then took the chair next to him. "This is it for me, though: my last term. Jess wasn't too happy when I stood for re-election last year, but the party bigwigs were adamant they didn't have another viable candidate so I let myself be talked into it. That's the other reason I'm here tonight. Wyndham-Pryce looks like a good bet to make the jump from state legislature to federal. The party's thinking about grooming him to take my seat."

"Reasonable choice," Booth nodded. "The man's served his constituents well going on twenty years. He has a reputation for being fair-minded and plain-dealing. I'd vote for him."

"I gathered that, based on your supporting him tonight…"

"Pardon me, gentlemen." Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce, who had excused herself upon Booth and Bonnie's arrival, had returned and now hovered at Aubrey's elbow. "Do you think I could spirit Bonnie away for these few minutes before dinner is served? I promise not to keep her long."

There was, of course, no objection. Bonnie rose, and followed closely on Freya Wyndham-Pryce's spike heels as she wended her way around the richly-set tables, greeting now one person, then another. "It's wonderful to see your grandfather out and about again," she said over her shoulder. "I'm so glad he's enjoying the event. He was a great draw, you know. I'm afraid the organizers dropped his name quite shamelessly. The Senator and I are so very grateful."

Bonnie had assumed she was being tapped to help with some aspect of the function, but Freya led her into the rapidly-clearing atrium, where she stopped only long enough to instruct a server to bring two glasses of wine to the pedestal table she indicated in the far corner. "That really is the most exquisite dress," Freya said briskly, as she resumed walking. "Chanel, I think? Yes," she went on at Bonnie's nod. "The craftsmanship is telling. You have such excellent fashion sense, Bonnie. I only wish my Emma had your style."

Bonnie might have observed, quite sincerely, that Trev's sister had all the model of impeccable taste she needed in her own mother. Freya was dressed for the evening in a sleek, royal blue sheath overlaid with matching lace that showed her tall, lithe figure off to best advantage. If not for the silver-gray hair she wore in a smooth, chin-length pageboy, she might easily have passed for a decade younger than her actual years. A competitive swimmer in her youth, she still swam every morning, and moved as a result with the suppleness and grace of a well-toned athlete. It was her face, with its strong planes and angles, that Trev had inherited along with her pale complexion and sapphire-blue eyes. Bonnie had always admired her svelte Nordic beauty. She contented herself with saying only, "You look especially lovely tonight, Freya. That shade of blue really sets off your eyes."

"Thank you, my dear." She said no more until the waiter, having served their drinks, moved away. "Bonnie…" Freya toyed with her wine glass, twisting the stem between her long, slender fingers. "We've known each other a long time, and, well, I like to think that we have a good relationship, you and I."

"Yes, of course," Bonnie rushed to assure her. "You've always been a friend to me."

"Well, then, I hope you take what I'm about to tell you in good part. I have gone back and forth with myself as to whether I should say anything at all, but it's best to be honest, don't you agree? And, the truth is, Bonnie, I'm disappointed in you."


	14. Chapter 14: Champion

14\. Champion

Bonnie was taken too much by surprise, initially, to do more than stare at Freya in confusion, but she realized almost immediately what had prompted the older woman's remark, and only wondered she had not had the foresight to expect this confrontation. Freya had always been a fiercely protective mother.

"Yes, I see you understand," Freya went on. "You may accuse me — quite reasonably — of maternal bias where Trev is concerned, but I am proud of my son, Bonnie, and I fail to see how he could possibly have fallen short of your expectations. I don't claim he's perfect. He has flaws like everyone else, but he also has so much more to offer than most men. He's handsome, isn't he? Engaging, intelligent, ambitious, honest, good-hearted…?"

"He is," Bonnie broke in. "He's all of those things. And of course, I love him. I do."

Freya's ash-blond brows knit together. "Then, what's this all about? Why reject his proposal?"

"I… I don't know. Really, Freya. I'm the first to admit it makes no sense…"

"And you've always been such a sensible girl! That's why I find your refusal so difficult to fathom." Freya shook her head, as if, by doing so, the puzzle pieces in her mind might reorder themselves into a recognizable pattern. "I don't need to tell you that the Senator and I could not be more pleased by Trev's choice. If we'd taken it upon ourselves to arrange a marriage for him, we could hardly have done better. You must know that we already think of you as part of the family. As Trev's mother, I would try, for his sake, to love any girl he wants to marry, but I am already fond of you, Bonnie, for your own sake. I imagine all mothers have misgivings about their ability to deal successfully with prospective daughters-in-law, but there's no fear of that with you. We get along splendidly."

Bonnie could identify only too well with Freya's perplexity. "I feel the same. As far as in-laws go, I couldn't ask for better than you and the Senator. You have never been anything but welcoming and kind."

"So, that's not the issue, at least." She raised her glass, and took a small sip of wine. "From what Trev told us, your 'no' isn't final. Is that right? He's optimistic you'll come around, given time."

"And I may, Freya, truly. It's a definite possibility. For the moment, though, all I know for sure is, I'm not quite ready to say 'yes'."

Freya took this in, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I appreciate that you're still quite young, both of you. The Senator and I didn't marry until I was nearly thirty and he was a bit more. You may feel that you have years yet before you need to make a commitment, but what you may not be taking into account is that it's in Trev's best interests to settle down sooner rather than later."

"It is? How so?"

"Trev has never made any secret of his political aspirations. You know he means to be primed to take over his father's seat when the Senator leaves office. That time may be upon us more quickly than we anticipated."

Bonnie's heart sank within her. "Oh, Freya, no! Is the Senator ill?" She pictured Trenton Wyndham-Pryce as he'd worked his way around the atrium, glad-handing the movers and shakers in the cocktail crowd: a tall, slim man of upright bearing whose craggy features could be transformed in an instant by his charismatic smile. "He looked to be in the peak of health when I saw him earlier!"

Freya patted Bonnie's hand where it rested on the table next to her untouched glass. "Bless you, sweetheart, the Senator doesn't suffer from anything more serious than heartburn, the politician's occupational hazard. No, there's talk of his being asked to run for Senator Aubrey's seat when he retires five years from now."

"Of course!" Bonnie rapped herself smartly on the forehead. "Gramps and the Senator were just discussing that very thing."

"Were they, indeed! How interesting… Well, you see what this means for Trev, don't you? He can no longer afford to wait very long to get married. As you must know, it's a marked disadvantage for a candidate to be single. Voters seem to judge an unmarried man as less serious and reliable, less relatable than a married opponent. A single man's private life comes under much greater scrutiny, too. The feeling is, if he's over thirty and has never been married, something must be wrong with him. And, I'm sorry to say, there are still benighted people in Virginia who won't vote for any candidate they have the least suspicion might be gay."

Bonnie shook her head at this sad state of affairs. "That's incredible, in this day and age."

"People have their prejudices," Freya said, philosophically. "Voters favor men in traditional marriages, and, if there are adorable children in the picture, so much the better. Virginians love nothing more than seeing their core values of home and family acted out for them on the political stage. It's a great advantage, of course, if both husband and wife are personable and attractive, and if, in addition, they're descendants of American royalty, whether of the political, scientific or literary stripe, well, let's just say: that's a hard combination to beat.

"Mark my words, Trev will go far on his own merits; he doesn't have to marry well to succeed. He chose you out of love, and not for what you can bring to the table, politically-speaking. The beauty of it is, though, that you bring so much: your natural charm and loveliness, your intelligence, your style, your open heart and willingness to give more than you take. You come from not one, but two, high-profile, well-respected families, and as a consequence, you've learned how to handle yourself in the limelight. There's a long tradition of service and excellence in your family, as there is in ours, and I know you'll do that tradition proud. It's my dearest hope you'll do it by Trev's side, because the two of you together? You'd be as unstoppable in Richmond, and later in Washington, as you were as teenagers on the tennis court." Freya, at last out of breath, blushed a pale pink and laughed a bit self-consciously. "Listen to me, would you? Must be my PR background come back to haunt me!"

"You must have been very good at your job," Bonnie said, somewhat overwhelmed by the mix of flattery and argument in Freya's long speech. "You're quite… eloquent." She helped herself, finally, to a large gulp of wine.

"What I want to stress is, you don't have the luxury of time you probably expected. It would be unfair, and possibly damaging to his career, to make Trev wait, say, more than a year. If you can't commit relatively soon, you should let him go, and give him the chance to find someone else. Believe me when I say, for all our sakes, I hope it doesn't come to that." She reached across the table, and curling her fingers around Bonnie's, gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "Enough of that, now. We'd best get back. Your grandfather will be wondering what's become of you."

Bonnie readily abandoned her half-full wine glass and started back to the banquet hall at Freya's side. They had gone a few steps when the older woman slipped her arm through Bonnie's, and smiled at her ruefully. "You must think me a meddling old crone."

"Of course not, Freya! Never that." Unbidden, her mind produced the image of a woman scarpering off on dangerously-high heels and leaving her little boy with a total stranger. "Trev's very lucky to have a mother like you. Not every son has a champion."

Freya hugged Bonnie's arm to her. "I'm so glad you understand, my dear. I would hate for anything I've said to cause a rift between us. Still friends?"

"Friends," Bonnie confirmed without hesitation. They continued on, arms linked, and so in charity one with the other that Bonnie felt emboldened to ask, "Freya, did you accept the Senator the first time he proposed to you?"

Freya chuckled softly and slanted a laughing look Bonnie's way. "What makes you think _he_ did the asking?"

It was clear to Bonnie, upon re-entering the dining room, that neither her grandfather nor Senator Aubrey had the least awareness of her over-long absence; they were as intent on each other and as thoroughly engaged as when she had left them. It was Trev, instead, who sat sideways in his seat, anxiously craning his neck to see over the diners blocking his view of the entryway. A curvaceous blonde, perched daintily on the edge of Bonnie's chair, was chatting away at him, but he appeared to barely hear her. As Bonnie came into sight, he relaxed noticeably, but the concern did not entirely vanish from his face. His eyes darted worriedly from her to his mother and back again, wordlessly asking: _Is everything okay? Are you all right?_ She grinned in reassurance, and it was only then he smiled, relieved. He was on his feet, extending an arm, when she reached the table. "I was about to send out the cavalry," he told her.

Bonnie fit her shoulder under his, slipped an arm around his waist, and kissed his cheek. "No need. Just a little girl talk."

The blonde had jumped up, too, and now held a beautifully-manicured hand out to her. "Savannah Greeley, Miss Booth-Hodgins," she said, with a distinct Southern drawl. "Campaign volunteer. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Miss Greeley's grip was pleasantly firm, her manner open and bright. "Same here," Bonnie said, taking to her at once. Grammy T would have congratulated the slightly smaller woman on her perfectly symmetrical features: the gracefully-arched brows, the large blue eyes, the high cheekbones, the generous mouth with its even, straight teeth. The nose was, perhaps, a little too broad across the base, and the chin a trifle too pointed for truly stunning looks, but that was to nit-pick what was a very pretty face by any standards. "I have the strangest feeling we've met before, Miss Greeley. If so, I hope you'll forgive my not remembering."

"Please, call me Vanna, and not to worry: we've never met. You probably recognize me from a few print ads I did several years ago."

"Vanna's being modest, Bonnie. She's a former Miss Virginia Teen, and first runner-up for Miss Virginia a few years ago. She's been the face of Gourmet Virginia Peanuts, Rosy's Heirloom Tomatoes, and similar products. The campaign's fortunate to have her."

"You're very kind to say so," Vanna said sweetly, "and I'll return the favor by taking myself off, and letting you get on with your dinner. I hope we have the chance to meet again real soon, Miss Booth-Hodgins…"

"Bonnie, please!"

"All right, then: Bonnie. You all enjoy your evening, now!"

"She seems very nice," Bonnie said, as Vanna, her fuschia bandage dress glittering with each sway of her hips, tripped lightly away.

"Vanna?" Trev helped Bonnie with her chair, and, slipping back into his own seat, spread his napkin over his lap. "She's a real go-getter, that one, a great asset to the campaign. But, never mind all that. What I really want to know is: what have you and my mother been getting up to behind my back?"

Bonnie smiled as mysteriously as any Sphinx, and said not a word.


	15. Chapter 15: Project

15\. Project

At her work station the next morning, Bonnie found a paper cylinder secured by a red satin ribbon bow. Intrigued, she undid the tie, and unrolled the sheet to reveal a pencil drawing of a simple human figure, a boy to judge by the clothes and ball cap, dwarfed by an enormous yellow brontosaurus with a goofy grin on its narrow head. She smiled to see the child's hand resting companionably on one of the creature's thick forelegs as they stood together in a park-like setting under a cloudless sky. A cartoon bubble with the neatly-printed words "Thank You!" floated by the boy's head, and lower on the page, against a background of brilliant green, the artist had written in fairly steady block letters, "Danny."

"That's a sweet little picture," said Gabby Franklin from over Bonnie's shoulder. "That young friend of yours has talent."

"Yes, he does." Bonnie quickly released one edge of the sheet, allowing the drawing to roll back up on itself, and so hide the artist's signature. She felt sure Dr. Baer would not want it generally known that she had spent most of Saturday with his son. Happily, she had just the change of subject to distract the ever-inquisitive Gabby. "I have something for you." She reached into her shoulder bag and, removing a stack of white card stock rectangles, handed the upmost to Gabby. "It's an invitation to my fine art seminar's painting exhibition this coming Saturday from five to eight. I hope you can make it. There'll be wine and assorted amuse-bouches. And feel free to a bring a friend or two. The more, the merrier!"

"Booze and nibbles?" Gabby flashed her gap-toothed grin. "Count me in!"

Over the course of the morning, Bonnie repeated this invitation so often that, by the time she was called to Dr. Baer's office to report on the status of her current project, there was only the card she had reserved for him left in her lab coat pocket. She wondered, as she made her way out of the workroom in answer to his summons, if she would notice any difference in his manner toward her, if, now that she had seen a more personal side of him, he would be less distant and severe. His greeting, however, was his usual cool, brisk, "There you are, Miss Booth-Hodgins," with barely a glance up from a photographic enlargement which appeared to rivet his attention. He reached for a magnifying glass, and examined a lower corner of the image. "Have a seat. Where are you with the Gunnerson landscape?"

He left her no choice but to address the rather unruly crown of his head. "I applied the layer of isolating varnish this morning. It's drying at the moment."

He gave no sign of having heard her, but leaned back thoughtfully in his chair, his eyes never leaving the photo on his desk. She was irritated enough to imagine saying, "And I'll be poking holes in the canvas with my scalpel immediately after lunch," but before she could succumb to the temptation, Dr. Baer sat forward abruptly, and, taking up the photo, held it out to her. "Are you familiar with this painting?"

Thanks to her year in Paris, Bonnie not only recognized the work, but knew it to be one of the most highly-prized and oft-visited paintings in the Louvre. It pictured a beautiful young couple rushing side by side through a dark wood toward a fountain where a host of putti held at the ready a cupful of the elixir of love with which the fountain overflowed. A sentimental subject executed with rococo flourishes and artistic panache, the painting was universally acclaimed as a masterpiece, and one of France's cultural treasures. Print reproductions continued to be in demand, and sold well nearly three hundred years after its first showing. "It's Antoine Lebrun's _La coupe d'amour_. It dates from 1785 or so, I believe."

She made to pass the photo back to him, but he raised a hand to stop her. "Are you sure? Look again."

Bonnie did not think she could possibly have been mistaken — the painting was too famous for that — but she did as instructed. Examining the image more carefully, she saw that the male and female profiles were not as clearly defined as she remembered; the brushstrokes forming the woman's draperies were more free and fluid, and the putti's features were more suggested than delineated. Most tellingly, there was no signature in the picture's lower right hand corner. "It's not the painting on display at the Louvre," she acknowledged. "Is it a copy?"

"Very likely. This particular copy was a recent gift to the Jeffersonian by Adrienne Duchesnay. Insurance records show continuous possession by the Duchesnay family for at least a hundred years, but family lore pushes the date back to the late 1880s when the first Duchesnay emigrated to the States from France. There's no bill of sale in support of that, however, and no art dealer label or any useful information on the canvas back."

"So, it might be nothing more than one of those reproductions done by enterprising young artists to be sold as pricey souvenirs for the traveling rich."

"Exactly. In the days before photography and mass-produced art prints, it was common for the wealthy to purchase replicas of the paintings they admired. There was no fraud involved; the paintings were not considered masterworks, only decorative items that attested to their owners' being well-traveled and cultured. This painting could very easily have been acquired in that manner. Again, however, family tradition holds that it's a genuine Lebrun, possibly a preliminary study for the later, more polished version."

The odds of a long-lost Lebrun surfacing in someone's private collection struck Bonnie as so remote as to be negligible. "Was it Ms. Duchesnay's belief that she was giving the museum a real Lebrun?"

"No, she only mentioned the possibility as an interesting background detail. And it's clear from the way the painting was handled that the owners attached little real value to it. They left it hanging over the family fireplace for close on a century, for heaven's sake! The surface is almost entirely covered with a fine layer of soot." Dr. Baer shook his head in disgust at this damnable carelessness. "An old story's not much to go on, but, on the very slim chance there's something to it, the museum has decided to allocate some limited resources into investigating the matter. The feeling is this would be a suitable project for an intern, at least initially. Tell me, Miss Booth-Hodgins, if you were put in charge, how would you proceed?"

Bonnie was so surprised by the question she only managed to squeak out, "Me?"

Dr. Baer fixed her with his unwavering gray gaze. "Are you indicating you feel unequal to the task?"

"No! Oh, no! It's just…" At his pointed look, she composed herself, and replied evenly, "The first step would be to send the painting for infrared reflectography and x-radiography to ascertain what the different layers of paint can reveal about its composition. While that's being done, research can begin into the painter's biography for any direct references or clues regarding the time and place of the painting's production."

He nodded. "The painting is being x-rayed as we speak, and the infrared reflectogram should be done by Thursday at the latest. The time estimate for this project is eight months, which is, I believe, almost the exact length of time remaining on your internship. I propose you take responsibility for seeing the investigation through, from outset to completion. I sincerely doubt you will make any earth-shattering discovery, but it will give you experience with every stage of a painting's conservation, which is extremely valuable in itself. What do you say?"

At first, stunned speechless by so unexpected an offer, Bonnie could do nothing but stare. She had been wanting a challenge, and here one was being presented to her on a platter. She could hardly breathe for excitement. "Yes, please! I mean, I'd like that very much, yes."

Dr. Baer did not quite manage to suppress a smile at her enthusiasm. "I should make clear that the museum wants the whole process — every procedure, every analysis, every picayune detail — meticulously documented. You will need to make extensive notes, take lots of photos, keep track of all read-outs and test results. It's sound practice in any case, but, in the unlikely event the painting proves to be genuine, it will be absolutely crucial to have a complete record of every aspect of treatment. Any questions?"

Bonnie nipped her bottom lip to keep from grinning like a mad woman. "No. Thank you so much for this opportunity, Dr. Baer. I'll make the most of it."

"Well," he said gruffly, looking anywhere now but at her. "See that you do. I believe that is all, Miss Booth-Hodgins. Good luck."

She took her dismissal gracefully, her mind already speeding ahead to the museum archives and the publications she could consult for information regarding Antoine Lebrun. She was on her feet and turning to leave when she was brought up short by Dr. Baer's calling her back. "Yes?"

"One last thing: I want to make sure you understand that my choosing you for this project has nothing whatsoever to do with your kindness to Danny over the weekend. This is not some sort of quid pro quo."

The idea that Dr. Baer was, in a sense, repaying a debt had not once occurred to Bonnie. "No," she said, automatically, "of course not. But, speaking of Danny…" She reached into her lab coat pocket, and, retrieving the last of her invitations, held it out to him. "I was hoping you'd bring him by the art exhibit my fine arts seminar is sponsoring this weekend. He's been so generous with his art work. I'd like to show him something of mine."

Dr. Baer accepted the card, studied it briefly, and then, with a sigh, set it down on his desk top. "Please sit down again, Miss Booth-Hodgins."


	16. Chapter 16: Deflation

16\. Deflation

Bonnie slowly resumed her seat, her elation ebbing at the discomfort all too clearly written on Dr. Baer's face. When he continued to struggle for words, she said in some concern, "What is it? Danny's all right, isn't he?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine," he answered swiftly, only to hesitate again. "The thing is… I don't mean to be ungrateful, but, in retrospect, I'm beginning to think I should have taken the time off and stayed with Danny myself."

Bonnie's heart, weighed down by confusion and dismay, sank within her. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. I thought the day went so well…"

"From what I've heard — and, believe me, I've had an earful — it couldn't have gone any better. The last twenty-four hours, it's been nothing but 'Miss Bonnie' this and 'Miss Bonnie' that."

She had to bite back a smile. "That can't have been pleasant for you."

He shot her a mildly-reproving look. "The point is, you've made another conquest, Miss Booth-Hodgins. Absurd as it may sound, Danny's formed an attachment to you. He seems to be under the impression that the two of you are fast friends, that you'll be seeing each other regularly. He even mentioned something about your writing a children's book together, a variation on Danny and the Dinosaur."

She nodded. "We kicked a few ideas around. I pitched 'Bonny and the Brontosaurus,' but Danny wasn't really into it. He prefers a boy protagonist."

She'd expected to elicit a hint of a smile at this bit of whimsy, but Dr. Baer's expression grew, if anything, more grave. "I give you credit for the very best of intentions, but, as you admitted yourself, you don't have much experience with small children. You can be forgiven for not knowing how literal they can be. Once you raise their expectations, however casually, they count on you coming through. They're very trusting that way."

Bonnie was having difficulty making heads or tails of this speech. "Are you suggesting, Dr. Baer, that I was just humoring Danny? Making empty promises to him?"

"Given the circumstances, that seems the most likely scenario."

"But it wasn't like that! I genuinely like Danny, and enjoyed spending time with him. I think of us as friends, too."

Dr. Baer gave no indication of being reassured by these remarks. Rather, he drew in a deep breath, and then, went on soberly, "As a father, of course it's gratifying to know Danny made such a positive impression on you, and, naturally, I'd be the last person on earth to deny he's an engaging little boy but…" Again, he seemed to be at a loss. "What I'm trying to say, badly, I'm afraid, is that, while I'm grateful for the friendship you showed Danny on Saturday, I think it's best we leave it at that."

Bonnie was so little prepared for this twist in the conversation that she was not immediately sure she'd understood. "You don't want me to see Danny again?" She was surprised at how much the realization distressed her. "But, why? Do you think I'd be a bad influence?"

Dr. Baer waved this notion away impatiently. "Of course not. As far as influence goes, there's no doubt Danny would benefit from further contact with you. But there's the risk to consider as well as the reward, and, in my opinion, the risk is unacceptable."

He might as well have been speaking in tongues. "I don't follow you. What risk?"

"Miss Booth-Hodgins, I know you mean well, and right now, you don't foresee any problem making time for Danny, but ask yourself this: are you being realistic? You already have considerable demands on your time: your extensive family, your quasi-fiancé, friends and colleagues your own age, all these people have a claim on you. Then, there's your work here, and your supplementary classes. There are only so many hours in a day, and even you need to sleep sometime. You may not think so today, but there will come a time when the novelty has worn off, and it will be inconvenient to have a five-year-old child looking to you for company and attention. Please don't take this as a criticism. I sincerely believe your heart is in the right place, and that you would never willingly hurt Danny in any way, but the danger is there, and, as his father, it's my duty to protect him from harm, however remote.

"You're probably not aware that Danny's in something of a precarious spot, emotionally. He doesn't have a large, loving family to fall back on: no siblings of his own, no grandparents, uncles or aunts on my side, and none to speak of on the other side, either, since Val is estranged from her family. There aren't a lot of adults in his life, particularly women, to interact with him. It's not at all impossible he could grow more attached to you than you bargain for, with disastrous consequences all round. To my way of thinking, that's needlessly courting trouble. I don't know if you can appreciate my concern, but I hope you do."

Dr. Baer's position might have been entirely defensible, but Bonnie was in no state to weigh his arguments carefully. Later, reviewing them dispassionately, she could grant them some validity, but in the moment, she was swamped by the demoralizing feeling of having, once again, been judged out of hand and found wanting: rejected a second time and just as unfairly, too. She was not even to be given an chance to prove herself trustworthy! The verdict was in: she was doomed to fail Danny. Whatever good her friendship might do him was deemed not to be enough to countervail the bad. Dr. Baer had the grace to look apologetic, but that was insufficient comfort. "Yes, I see," she said, striving for a flat, unemotional tone. "You're responsible for Danny's welfare. You have an obligation to do what you feel is in his best interests."

Some of the stiffness drained from Dr. Baer's posture. "Thank you for understanding."

Bonnie stood to go, but she could not quite make herself leave without protest. "I may understand, Dr. Baer, but that is not to say I agree with you. I'm disappointed by your decision, for my own sake obviously but, if you'll forgive a brief lapse of modesty, for Danny's sake, too. I think you short-change both of us, and that's a terrible shame. Still, it's your prerogative as Danny's father to make this decision on his behalf, and I, of course, defer to you. Please know, however, that I'm not happy about it." She nodded a curt farewell, and let herself out, quietly closing the door behind her.


	17. Chapter 17: Exhibition

17\. Exhibition

Her stomach aflutter with butterflies, Bonnie toured the rooms of the Tremont Art Gallery, stopping now and again to examine the array of paintings newly-installed on the featureless gray walls and to congratulate those of her fellow seminar students who hovered near their work, anxiously squaring canvases that already hung straight or flicking invisible specks of dirt from pristine frames. Her own submissions, so much smaller than most of the paintings on display, had taken next-to-no time to hang, leaving her free to wander the exhibition and admire her classmates' talents. Styles varied widely, ranging from the purely representational, such as her own, to the unabashedly conceptual, with some impressionist, abstract and multi-media pieces thrown in for good measure. Something for every taste, Bonnie mused happily, as she retraced her steps. The show was bound to be a great success.

When the gallery doors swung open precisely at five o'clock, allowing access to the large crowd that had been milling on the sidewalk, Bonnie was more than ever glad she had organized a private showing of her work for her grandfather the previous evening. She had issued a blanket invitation to the household, of course, and her brothers had looked in for a few minutes, primarily to scarf down the pigs-in-a-blanket appetizer she had prepared for the occasion, but the real motive behind the dry run had been to give Grandpa B the feel of the exhibition without exposing him to the jostling and cacophony of the actual event. Once the boys, having praised her work in the most perfunctory of manners, had raced off, she and Gramps had remained in the quiet studio, standing before the paintings arm in arm and taking the occasional sip of sparkling wine.

Grandpa B shook his head in wonder. "I've got to hand it to you, Bonbon. These are really spectacular pictures. I only wish Grammy could have lived to see them. She always said you had the makings of a fine artist."

"That was the doting grandmother talking, Gramps. I'm a competent painter, that's all."

"Well, if this is just 'competent,' I'd like to see what extraordinary looks like! I'm telling you: this is really outstanding work, and that's not grandfather-speak, either, Sweet Tart."

Bonnie gave his arm a squeeze. "Thank you, Gramps. That means the world to me."

"Now, to decide…" He stepped closer to the paintings, and subjected each in turn to a minute inspection. "No," he said, finally. "Can't do it. Can't pick a favorite. I'm going to have to bid on all of them."

Bonnie laughed merrily. "Gramps, you old schemer! You just want to make sure I'm not embarrassed by having none of my paintings sell."

He huffed scornfully. "As if that would happen. I'll be lucky to get one of them."

"The paintings will be sold by silent auction, remember? If you're serious about bidding, you're going to need a representative on site."

"All taken care of," Grandpa B said smugly. "And don't ask me who, because I won't tell you."

"Such secrecy! You and Grammy A are really working the mystery angle. That's right," she said, when her grandfather cocked an eyebrow in interest. "One of Grammy's coterie just happens to be in D. C., and he — or she — has agreed to serve as her proxy. You and Grammy might wind up bidding against each other!"

The prospect did not appear to trouble him. "The money goes to a good cause, doesn't it? Scholarships, and the like?"

Bonnie nodded. "What doesn't go to cover the costs of the exhibition will be used to provide financial aid for future sessions. So, the more funds we raise, the better. But it doesn't all have to come out of your pocket, Moneybags!"

Her grandfather shrugged. "Can't take it with me, after all."

Now, as she watched the visitors stream in, she found herself revisiting the intriguing question of who her grandparents might have tapped to represent them: a member of the family, no doubt, in her grandfather's case, but the other proxy would be a French national and, potentially, a stranger. She kept an eye out for a Booth connection, or an unusually stylish individual with Continental flair, but no one fitting either description approached her in the opening minutes of the show. There was, in the first wave of people to stop by her installation, a familiar face, but it was as startling to see as it was unsettling. "Ms. Dunbar," she said, more surprise than pleasure in her greeting.

The woman had the nerve to lean in with a sly look and teasing smile. "Miss Bonnie!" She chortled at her little joke. "I just had to stop by and thank you for looking after my son so well last weekend. He simply raved and raved about you! It got to the point, let me tell you, if I wasn't absolutely sure of Danny's complete devotion to me, I'd've been a bit jealous."

There was nothing in this speech, or in Val's chummy manner, to improve Bonnie's opinion of her. "Danny is a wonderful little boy," she said, as neutrally as she was able. She might have added, _and he deserves better from you_ , but she managed to hold her tongue.

Val did not fail to detect the chill beneath the politeness, however. She schooled her features into a pretty moue of contrition. "I see you're holding my little trick against me, Bonnie, and you're right: I owe you an apology. I took advantage of your decency, and I'm sorry, I really am. It's just…" She shook her head helplessly, setting the chandelier earrings she wore twinkling against her long neck. "Dolph can be so infuriating, I just go crazy some times and act on impulse. And you have to believe I knew he'd check the work room before taking off for the day; he's perfectly anal when it comes to things like that. So, you see, leaving Danny with you wasn't as bad as you might think. It was more of a stupid prank, really, just to get a little of my own back.

"Look," she hurried on when Bonnie showed no sign of warming to her, "I know we got off on the wrong foot and all, but I'm really hoping we can get past that, and be friends, you know, for Danny's sake. He's taken such a liking to you. It would be a shame if he had to miss out because of a little misstep on my part. So, how about it?" She attempted a hangdog look. "Bygones?"

Bonnie could only stare at the woman, appalled beyond words. At best, Val Dunbar was clueless past redemption, and at worst, a mistress of effrontery. Either way, Bonnie wanted as little to do with her as possible. "Ms. Dunbar," she began cooly, only to be distracted by the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed entirely in black weaving his way in her direction. She would have sworn the leather-clad gentleman turning heads as he passed was her favorite cousin, but, with his keen eyesight, Eddie had no need for prescription glasses and wouldn't have chosen such a nerdy style of spectacles if he did. Still, there was no mistaking the lady-killer smile he flashed her when their eyes met.

"Tootsie Pop!" Arms outspread, Eddie closed the distance between them and caught her up in a bone-crushing hug. "How's my best girl?" He released her only to salute each of her cheeks with a noisy smack. Stepping to her side, he draped an arm cosily over her shoulder, and looked around. "Nice party. Glad I could make it after all."

For the second time in a very short while, Bonnie was dumbfounded, but then she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye the heavy gold bracelet circling Eddie's wrist and the massive gold signet ring on his hand, and concluded that, for some reason, Eddie was running some kind of scam. When he turned his head to smile down at her, she saw, sure enough, the telltale pinhole in the bridge of his glasses: against the specifically-posted prohibition at the gallery's entrance, Eddie was sporting a hidden video-recorder. Through the clear glass of his lenses, she read the familiar admonition, _Ask me no questions_ , and was intrigued enough to follow his lead. "Hope you came prepared to spend big, cousin of mine. I'm expecting you to bid on not one, not two, but on all four of my paintings."

From the answering gleam in Eddie's eye and the deepening of his dimple, Bonnie knew she had set him up handsomely. "Those're my instructions, Sugar Baby. My client wants those little beauties of yours, and he's willing to shell out whatever it takes to get 'em. Plus, he's given me carte blanche to buy up whatever else looks promising. Art's a great investment, he's always saying. Better than stocks and bonds."

Val Dunbar had sidled smoothly up to Bonnie's elbow, and now cleared her throat delicately. " _Cousin_ did I hear you say, Bonnie?"

Eddie appeared to notice Val for the first time, and, if his widening grin was any indication, he very much liked what he saw. "Well, hello, there! Where'd you come from? Say, I didn't just horn in between you two lovely ladies, did I? My lousy manners!" He removed his arm from around Bonnie's shoulder, and extended his hand. "Name's Eddie Booth."

Val returned his smile with interest, and willingly surrendered both her hand and her name. "Not Booth-Hodgins?" she asked, with the hint of a purr in her voice.

"No, no. Bonnie's mom is my dad's half-sister, so we're not even full first cousins, and still the girl won't marry me. Imagine that? I mean, so what if it's against the law in thirty states? It's legal in the great state of Virginia, and that's good enough for me."

Bonnie did not have to pretend to be scandalized. Whatever was he playing at? She swatted him on the arm and scolded, "Enough of that!"

Eddie rubbed the abused spot, and slanted Val a mock-rueful look. "Love the girl to death, but she can get pretty handsy. Say," he went on, making a show of taking Val in from the shoulders of her leopard-print wrap dress to her pointy-toed shoes, "a gal with your great style must know what's what in the art world. Now me, I know what I like, but I'm not what you'd call a connoisseur. I've made some really bonehead buys over the years."

"Like the time you bought that Vanderklempt," Bonnie improvised, getting into the spirit of the game. "Your client took a bath on that one."

"Geez," Eddie winced, as a poorly-suppressed shudder rocked him. "Don't remind me! Anyway, onwards and upwards, that's my motto! So, what do you say, Val? Care to help a guy out, and give me the benefit of your exquisite taste?" He gestured to a quartet of visitors awaiting their turn to approach Bonnie and her paintings. "Time we clear out of here in any case. We're keeping Bonbon from her adoring public."

Val tossed her long locks, lifted her chin and smiled archly. "I'd like that, Mr. Booth."

"What, Mr. Booth!" Eddie objected roundly, as he began to steer her away, his gaudily-bejeweled hand at the small of her back. "My buds call me Eddie. And I've got a feeling, Val, you and me…"

Bonnie strained after them, but the words were swallowed in the general hubbub, and her attention commanded elsewhere as they moved out of sight. What in the world had she just witnessed? she wondered even as she accepted congratulations on her work, and answered questions about her media and technique. Had Eddie, usually so discriminating when it came to the opposite sex, been genuinely smitten? She would have liked to dismiss the possibility out of hand, but might Eddie not have inherited, along with their grandfather's spectacular good looks, his fatal predilection for sexy blue-eyed blondes with long hair and even longer legs? She took comfort from the fact that Eddie, given his art-dealer pose, had been up to something and play-acting from the start, but, come to think of it, what had that all been in aid of, anyway? He was annoyingly slippery, that cousin of hers, and it didn't help to realize he would probably never let her in on the secret. Bonnie was confident of only one thing: Eddie had been Grandpa B's proxy, and would enter his bids as directed. As to the rest, maybe time would tell.


	18. Chapter 18: Gallery

18\. Gallery

When, in the course of his rounds, their seminar instructor confided to Bonnie he had never yet experienced so large a turnout, she had no trouble believing him. She herself had been interacting with visitors seemingly without pause, and was amazed, when she finally had a moment to herself, to realize the event was nearly half-over. Gabby Franklin, having toured the other installations, returned bearing a selection of appetizers on a disposable plate, a flute of chilled white wine, and welcome tidings. "Eat while you have the chance," was her advice. "Who knows when you'll get another? Try one of those teeny crab cakes. Aren't they good?" When Bonnie, her mouth full, nodded emphatically, Gabby went on, "I checked on your auctions. All your paintings have multiple bids with _Virginia Cardinal_ the runaway favorite and _Virginia Trout_ coming in second. I'm rather partial to _Virginia Scallop_ , myself, but the bidding's already beyond the reach of my pocketbook, more's the pity."

Bonnie raised her glass to toast her workmate. "Thank you, Gabby, for the moral support, and for supplying me with food and drink. I was starving, and didn't know it!"

"Well, you better down the rest of that fast. Party of two heading this way."

Some time later, Bonnie was discussing divine proportion and aspect ratios with her cousin Sonny and his wife Adele when she felt a decided yank on her skirt, about hip-high. Glancing down, she saw the up-turned, grinning face of a brown-haired, grey-eyed pixie. "Danny Baer," she gasped, not quite believing her eyes. She dropped down onto her heels before him, and took his narrow shoulders between her hands. "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me," he answered simply.

She had the sudden, horrifying thought that Danny had somehow slipped away from his father and found his way to the gallery on his own, but, looking up, she saw, to her immense relief, Dr. Baer standing a few feet behind his son, watching them together. He had made an effort with his appearance, she noticed: he had foregone his usual attire of limp plaid shirt and khaki pants in favor of a maroon v-neck sweater overlaid by a well-cut tan corduroy suit coat and dark jeans. He had tamed his unruly mane of hair, as well, most likely by a visit to his long-neglected barber. Before she knew it, Bonnie was beaming up at him, and he, after a moment, smiled wryly back.

Adele had come up noiselessly beside her, and bending at the waist, asked Danny kindly, "Are you here to see Bonnie's paintings?" At Danny's quick nod, she straightened. "We've already had our turn, so we'll leave you to it." She waited for Bonnie to rise, then leaned in for a farewell peck on the cheek, and, with a last look that said all too clearly _you best believe I will want full details later_ , collected her husband and drew him away.

"I'm so glad you're here," Bonnie said to Danny, and then more quietly to Dr. Baer when he'd joined them, "Thank you for bringing him."

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. "Couldn't get a sitter," he deadpanned, only to break into a rueful smile when she shot him a gently-mocking look.

Danny had taken hold of her hand, and was tugging her closer to the wall, but it was immediately apparent the paintings were hung too high for him to see easily. "Hold on, Danny. We're going to need a stepping stool. I'm sure there's one around here somewhere…"

"Don't bother." Dr. Baer scooped Danny up and, raising him to his chest, settled him securely on one forearm. As if by long practice, Danny threaded an arm around his father's neck, hooking himself in place. With their heads so close and inclined ever so companionably one to the other, father and son made as appealing a picture as any on display in the gallery.

Bonnie gestured to her paintings, arranged foursquare on the wall as if to suggest the panes of a window. "I'm curious to know what you see in these paintings, Danny. Shall I give you a hint? These are highly-magnified parts of three animals and one plant that all live in my home state of Virginia. One of them is descended from dinosaurs. Can you tell which one?"

Any other child would have guessed the brook trout on the basis of its scaly skin, but Danny was too much an expert in his chosen field to be fooled. Once he made out that the fine brushstrokes around what appeared to be a black hole were meant to represent feathers, he correctly chose the cardinal. That accomplished, he was swift in identifying the dogwood blossom as the only plant, but needed a few more clues and some help from his father to recognize the sea shell. When all the puzzles had been solved, he pointed to each image in turn, and proudly named its subject.

Bonnie applauded his success. "I have to admit," she said, leaning in confidentially, "I like one of my paintings more than the others."

"Me, too!" Danny piped in his sweet voice.

"I know the one," Dr. Baer said, with exaggerated confidence. "It has to be everyone's favorite. It's… the brook trout!"

"No, Daddy! Wrong! It's the redbird."

"The cardinal," Bonnie nodded in confirmation. "It was my biggest challenge, and the most work."

As if by unspoken accord, they stepped closer to the dramatic red and black canvas. "This is really remarkable work, Miss Booth-Hodgins. Those little tuffs just under the eye and the delicate frond-like feathers are exceptionally fine. You obviously have a very smooth, steady hand. That will serve you well when the time comes for in-painting. What size brush did you use for the plumage?"

"Mostly 000 for the smallest feathers and 00 for the coarser ones farther from the eye."

"And there appears to be just the faintest brown circle within the black."

"Yes, cardinals have a brown iris, which I never suspected before I began this project. I always thought of birds' eyes as little black beads. The eye ring came as a surprise, too."

"Extraordinary. It looks like a circle of tiny grey gems encasing and adorning the eye."

"Yes!" Bonnie was particularly gratified that he appreciated the beauty of this very minor feature. "It's so tiny a detail, it escapes general notice. Which is a shame, because it's really exquisite."

"Well, I for one will never look at a cardinal in quite the same way, which is to say, Miss Booth-Hodgins, that you've achieved every true artist's purpose: to make us see the world with fresh eyes, to remind us that, however much we think we know, there is always more to discover if we take the time to look closely."

Bonnie found she could scarcely breathe, not only from the shock of his praise but from the unwavering look he fixed on her, a look that seemed to invite another, more personal interpretation of his last words. She could not look away; her gaze was trapped in his, her mind ravished by astonishment and wonder. The din of the crowd faded to a faraway murmur; the periphery of her vision narrowed until the passing people and surrounding objects were little more than insubstantial blurs. There remained, finally, at the center of her awareness only the unsounded depths of his dove grey eyes. She could not have said, later, how long she stood mesmerized or how many times her name had been called before she responded. She only knew it was not until she felt the jolt of an arm wrap round her back that the spell was broken.

"Sorry to run so late." Beside her, Trevor appeared somewhat out of breath, his tie loose, his hair lightly disheveled. He planted a quick kiss on her temple and chafed her shoulder reassuringly. "You didn't despair of me, did you, hon? I ducked out of the fundraiser as soon as I could, believe me. So, how've things been going here? Looks like you've had a packed house."

On her other side, Dr. Baer had set Danny back on his feet, and appeared to be waiting only for Trevor to give him an opening to take his leave. "Congratulations again, Miss Booth-Hodgins," he began, but Trevor stayed him by extending a hand.

"Don't rush off on my account. Trevor Wyndham-Pryce."

"Trev," Bonnie said, as Dr. Baer accepted the proffered hand with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "This is Dr. Rudolph Baer, my supervisor at the Jeff, and Danny Baer, fellow illustrator and dinosaur-fanatic."

"Danny. Right! I've heard a lot about you, wonder boy." Trev held out his hand again, but Danny, suddenly shy, shrank away and back against his father's legs. "Okay, then…" Trev forced a smile, and continued with practiced bonhomie, "Good to meet you both."

Dr. Baer acknowledged these civilities with an impassive nod, and turned back to Bonnie. "We really do have to get going." As if to illustrate the necessity, Danny's little face split into a huge, drawn-out yawn. His father smiled down indulgently, and ruffled his hair. "We'll stop by the auction room first, though, and enter a bid on Danny's favorite painting. The brook trout, right, buddy?"

Danny was on to his father by now, and only smiled tiredly at his teasing.

"A word to the wise," Trev said, before the Baers could complete their farewells. He availed himself pointedly of Bonnie's hand and drew her more closely to his side. "I plan to be the high bidder on all of Bonnie's paintings."

"Trev!" Bonnie protested.

"All of them, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce?" Dr. Baer asked evenly. "That strikes me as a bit… excessive. You couldn't be satisfied with, say, two or three?"

A faint flush suffused Trev's pale skin. "The paintings form a suite, and should be kept together. I mean to give them to my father, for his birthday. It's the perfect gift," he said, addressing himself to Bonnie. "The paintings will look great in his office in Richmond."

"They would look great in any number of offices, or homes, for that matter," Dr. Baer interjected, always in the same cool voice.

"Yes, well, you may not be aware that the paintings are all versions of Virginia state emblems…"

"Miss Booth-Hodgins was kind enough to let us in on that little secret, yes."

Trev's grip tightened on her hand, and the muscle in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. "And, as such, they will make an especially appropriate present from my father who has served Virginia as a state legislator for most of his career."

"Ah, yes: Trenton Wyndham-Pryce." Dr. Baer nodded his recognition. "I believe I've voted for his opponent several times over the years."

Trev breathed in sharply, but, fortunately for all concerned, Danny chose that moment to pull at the hem of his father's suit coat and look up at him plaintively. "All right, buddy, up you go." Dr. Baer suited action to words, and when Danny was snuggled securely against his chest, he said, "Thanks for the warning, Wyndham-Pryce, but we're not so easily discouraged, Danny and I. We'll take our best shot. See you Monday, Miss Booth-Hodgins." With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. From over his shoulder, Danny, his head resting heavily against his father's neck, waved a brief goodbye.

When they had disappeared from sight, Trev released Bonnie's hand, and scrubbed his face wearily. "God, I'm sorry," he said, on a sigh. "Bad show on my part. I let him get to me."

Bonnie could not approve Trev's behavior, but she had been on the receiving end of Dr. Baer's condescension enough to sympathize with his feelings. She patted his shoulder lightly. "Don't take it to heart. He rubs most people the wrong way. That's how he is."

"Yeah?" Trev did not seem in the least comforted. The bright blue of his eyes was shadowed, his expression grim. "I saw, you know. The way he looked at you."

Bonnie's heart began to pound, her breathing grew too shallow. "Looked at me? Dr. Baer?" She attempted a light laugh, but it rang hollow in her ears. "That's… ridiculous."

"I know what I saw, Bonnie. He's interested in you, and it's not purely professional. You don't see it, because you never do. You're totally blind to the effect you have on men, and that only makes you more attractive. All it would take is a little encouragement from you, and most men would fall gladly at your feet."

Bonnie smothered a smile at so flattering a delusion. "I'm not so much oblivious as you are seeing things that aren't there. Take it from me: Dr. Baer is the last man on earth to fall for me, gladly or otherwise."

He searched her eyes, still troubled. "And what about you?"

"Trev…" Bonnie held his gaze, wanting at this moment only to soothe him as honestly as possible. "Dr. Baer is my immediate superior. We work together. Anything… romantic… in nature would be entirely inappropriate."

Trev inhaled deeply, and let the air out on a long, slow breath. "Right. You're right. I'm an idiot. But that's what love does, don't they say? Make a fool of us all?" He crooked a half-smile, and, leaning in, stole a quick kiss. "I'd better head off and get my bids in. Can't lose those paintings now. Matter of honor."

With his departure, Bonnie had a moment to gather herself and look about her. The gallery halls was nearly deserted now, with only a few stragglers wandering in her immediate area. She remembered all at once her Grammy A's mysterious delegate and knew a moment's disappointment at having missed him (or her), if indeed the person had bothered to come. Just then, a woman hurried toward her, but it proved to be only Gabby, returning yet again. "I thought you'd left a while ago!"

"What, and miss the great reveal? I may not have a dog in the fight, but I love the excitement of a good auction. Your paintings are still doing very well, by the way. Oh, and you'll never guess who I saw in the auction room! Dr. Baer and his little boy! Color me amazed! He never turns out for events like this."

"Maybe if people made a point of inviting him, he would."

"Trust me: he gets invitations aplenty. No, the man's practically a recluse. Oh! D'you hear that? It's time. They're going to announce the winners."

Bonnie and Gabby were able to squeeze into the auction room, but so many people had remained in the expectation of having their name called as high bidder that there was no hope of snagging a seat. The program co-ordinator led off with the exhilarating news that all forty of the paintings on offer had found a purchaser, a few for record prices. To add spice to the proceedings, he announced, the results of the most-contested auctions would be held until the end. The first twenty or so results were read in random order; Bonnie's _Virginia Dogwood_ , won by Trev, was part of this group. The remaining twenty winners were revealed beginning with the lowest realized price. Bonnie was gratified to learn that _Virginia Scallop_ had placed sixteenth and _Virginia Trout_ twelfth; both, upon payment, would belong to Trev. There was only _Virginia Cardinal_ to listen for now, and, as the numbers slowly ticked down without her painting being named, Bonnie's nervous excitement rose to near-nauseating proportions. It didn't seem possible that a work of hers could have cracked the top five, but then, four and three and two were all called, and there was only her painting left.

"The painting to have garnered the greatest number of bids and the highest selling price in the history of the fine arts seminar gallery exhibition is Bonnie Booth-Hodgin's _Virginia Cardinal._ Congratulations and heartfelt thanks to the winner of this outstanding work of art." Here the co-ordinator paused for drama's sake: "Madame Rosalie Vincent, Marquise de Sancerre."


	19. Chapter 19: Marquise

19\. Marquise

Rosalie Vincent, Marquise de Sancerre rose to her feet at Bonnie's approach and offered her cheek for the first of the four air kisses which, at the moment, constituted the standard form of greeting among friends in Paris. Her lightly-powdered skin was redolent of the delightful scent of wild roses, her signature fragrance. "Ma petite Bonnie," she said, with a gracious smile when, at last, they drew apart, "how happy I am that you were free to join me on such short notice. I would have been downcast in the extreme if I had had to leave D. C. without spending at least a few minutes in your charming company. And what your dear grandmother would have had to say on the matter, I shudder to think."

Bonnie smiled at this florid and utterly Gallic welcome. "Madame, I assure you I would have cancelled any but the most obligatory of engagements for the pleasure of seeing you. May I say you look your usual stunning self." A woman on the shady side of fifty ought to have appeared somewhat peculiar in a shocking pink and black houndstooth suit, tightly belted and worn over a filmy black lace blouse, but Madame Vincent carried the bold ensemble off with her typical éclat. In defiance of the current trend toward understated, modest accessories, she flashed a short string of giant pearls at her throat as well as round earrings, a chunky bracelet, and an oversized ring, all equally fashioned of pearl. The opalescent jewelry nicely echoed the single wide band of white in an otherwise silky black pageboy that framed her striking, gamine face.

"Bah!" Madame Vincent waved the compliment away with a well-manicured hand. "One does the little one can, and hopes for the best. Sit, sit, my dear! I have, as you see, taken the liberty of ordering mimosas. We must certainly drink to your great success."

Bonnie slid into her seat at the beautifully-set table, taking in, as she did so, the quiet elegance of the dining room. Even for brunch, the restaurant attached to Madame's five-star hotel had not stinted to put out starched white tablecloths, embossed napkins, bone china and heavy flatware. When she looked back at her companion, it was to find Madame with her flute already raised in one hand. "To you, ma chère, and your triumphal evening."

"And to you, madame, for your part in making it so." They each took a sip, eyes smiling one into the other's over the glass rims. Bonnie set her drink down, and, taking up her napkin, laid it across her lap. "I _am_ sorry I didn't have the chance to see you last night. It was something of a madhouse in the gallery."

"Yes, indeed. You were surrounded on all sides whenever I circled back to you." A knowing smile curled Madame's lips, and her eyes shone with a saucy gleam. "I must congratulate you, ma petite, on your admirers. Two of them, if I do not mistake. I met the tall blond once, did I not, when you were staying the year with Angela?"

"You have excellent recall, madame. His name is Trevor Wyndham-Pryce."

"Ah! Just so. A most amiable boy, as I remember, and not at all hard on the eye. And the other gentleman? Dark-haired, wide across the shoulder, carrying the most adorable small child?"

Bonnie thought she caught just a hint of more-than-casual interest in the question. "That would be my supervisor at the Jeffersonian, Dr. Rudolph Baer and his son, Danny."

"I see. A colleague of yours, then." Once again, Madame's delivery was a shade too nonchalant. "Married, is he?"

Her suspicions all but confirmed, Bonnie shook her head in mixed wonder and amusement. "Madame! For shame! I hardly think Monsieur le Marquis would approve my indulging your curiosity on the subject."

Madame sighed to hear expressed so naive a sentiment. "My beloved Albert is a Frenchman, ma petite, and therefore the best of spouses. Unlike the unenlightened American male, he is not so unreasonable as to expect perfect fidelity in his wife." She favored Bonnie with an impish grin, and took another sip of her mimosa. "But seriously, my dear Bonnie, if you can manage it at all, I would very much appreciate an introduction to this handsome Dr. Baer of yours. You might, perhaps, bring him along to my show when it opens at the Tremont in two months' time. I shall send you an invitation."

Bonnie did not like to think of herself as either prudish or ageist, but the truth was she found Madame Vincent's blatant interest in Dr. Baer distinctly unpalatable. It was all very well for her grandmother's old friend to take much younger lovers while her elderly husband looked the other way, but Bonnie was not comfortable being made a party to it. "You give me entirely too much credit, Madame," she was not sorry to report. "I have no influence at all on Dr. Baer's comings and goings."

The older woman tilted her head to one side, and considered her thoughtfully. "Do you not, chérie?"

Happily for Bonnie, the waiter arrived at that moment to take their order, sparing her the necessity of a reply. On the pretext of not having consulted the menu, Bonnie deferred to her companion, only to discover she could not properly concentrate on the list of selections in her hand. When the waiter turned back for her order, she fell lamely back on, "I'll have the same, thank you."

Once their server had moved off, Bonnie did not take the chance that her hostess would resume their interrupted conversation. "So, Madame… my grandmother. Angela. How did you leave her? Is she well?"

"Ah, that one! Yes, yes, she is in splendid form, never better. To see her, one would never guess she is well into her eighties. Still straight, still spare. A marvel. I tell her, she will outlive us all! She might remarry, you know, any time she chooses. There is no lack of suitors. The Comte de Clermont is still paying her court, poor man. People think the worst because he is perennially low on funds and twenty years her junior, but he is genuinely devoted to her, all the same. Eh, bien." Madame shrugged philosophically. "She has made it plain she wants no second husband. He must have been an exceptional man, your grandfather Hodgins. I am sorry I never had the chance to know him."

Bonnie knew that regret only too well. "I have no memories of him, but everyone always speaks of him with great affection and respect. I believe they were very happy together."

The server brought them two covered porcelain carafes, one of strong black coffee, the other of scalded whole milk. When he would have poured, Madame waved him away, and prepared a cup of café au lait for Bonnie, and then, a second for herself. "I simply cannot abide American-style coffee," Madame said, helping herself to a lump of sugar. "The French have the perfect name for it: 'dirty water.' Half the attraction of this restaurant for me is its European coffee bar."

Madame Vincent had lived so long in France, and had so thoroughly assimilated the quirks of French culture and language that Bonnie often forgot she was American by birth. An ex-patriot like Angela, Rosalie had grown up somewhere along the eastern seaboard, but had from an early age felt stifled by the dullness of her bourgeois backwater and had dreamt of living a grander, more cosmopolitain existence out in the world. As soon as she'd saved up the price of a one-way ticket, she'd answered the siren call of Paris, and had thrown herself headlong into the bohemian demimonde of aspiring artists and their hangers-on. There was many a nude now hanging in premier art institutions that attested to her having started out as the model, if not also the mistress, of some of the century's most celebrated painters before taking up brushes herself and producing many seminal pieces of her own. If Madame could ever be persuaded to pen a tell-all memoir, Bonnie had no doubt it would make for a sensational and fascinating read.

"I am very much afraid," Madame said, setting her cup back carefully in its saucer, "that your dear grandmother will not be entirely pleased with my handling of her commission."

"Because you were only able to win one of my paintings at auction?" Bonnie guessed.

"Something along those lines, yes. On the one hand, I cannot be faulted for not following her instructions to the letter: I was to bid up to a certain amount for each painting, and no more, which is precisely what I did."

"Then, you faithfully carried out her wishes. She can't be dissatisfied with that."

"Ah, but you see, I may well have violated the spirit of her instructions. I confess to you, ma belle, I rather fell in love with your _Virginia Cardinal_ on my own account, and, to be blunt, I… euh…outbid her."

Bonnie could only stare at this revelation. "Are you saying she would have won the auction but for your bid?"

Madame lifted her shoulders helplessly. "I cannot say for sure, but, based on the price I paid, it is not at all impossible."

"Oh, my! I see your point: that does put a different complexion on things." Bonnie tried to imagine herself in her grandmother's shoes, and decided, in the end, that her Grammy A was too generous a soul to begrudge Madame her acquisition. "My grandmother's a reasonable woman. I think she will be more happy for you than angry."

Madame inclined her head, grateful for the reassurance. "And if she _is_ upset with me, I will loan her the painting for a time, that she may enjoy it to her heart's content."

The waiter returned, pushing an ornate tea trolley laden with dishes before him. He unloaded, two by two, glasses of freshly-squeezed orange juice, small bowls of jewel-toned fruit salad, and platter-sized plates of puffy Belgian waffles, with scoops of pale butter and a miniature pitcher of pure maple syrup on the side. Bonnie felt her mouth water at the sight and aromas. Assured he had fulfilled all their immediate desires, the waiter bowed himself away with a shrewd look in Madame's direction and a playful "Bon appétit."

"I think," Madame reflected aloud as she speared a piece of melon with her fork, "your grandmother would forgive any number of transgressions if I could entice you back to Paris for a while. Tell me, Bonnie, have you considered applying for the Louvre fellowship? The deadline is, as usual, September 1st."

The Louvre fellowship! Bonnie felt her stomach flip in nervous excitement. Such a prestigious appointment, a definite career-maker, but so heavily-contested… "I don't know, Madame. My qualifications…"

"Now, now! You must not sell yourself short, petite. I was exceedingly impressed by your brushwork and your artistic sensibility. You have talent, an excellent work ethic, and dedication to your craft. And you have a further advantage which you do not as yet suspect." Madame paused, the better to command Bonnie's complete attention, a secret smile playing over her lips. "I have been named, you see, to this year's selection committee."

Bonnie reaction to this happy announcement was all Madame could have wished: she gasped in genuine surprise and elation, thrilled, if truth be told, more for the honor done to her friend than for any improvement in her own prospects. Madame's backing would guarantee Bonnie's candidacy a consideration it might not otherwise have enjoyed, but, even so, Bonnie did not like her chances. "Congratulations, Madame," she said, warmly. "You deserve the recognition."

"Bah! Recognition is a paltry thing when compared to the pleasure of being in position to be useful to one's friends. Now, listen to me: you have already made a fine start at the Jeffersonian. You must continue to impress your superiors there; they are well-regarded in the conservation field, and their strong recommendations will carry much weight. Also, try to gain practical experience with a range of procedures and techniques; it is good to demonstrate a certain breadth of knowledge and expertise. Above all, do not be shy. If you are not being offered projects of suitable complexity, insist on greater challenges."

At Madame's words of advice and encouragement, Bonnie's mind flew to the intriguing canvas awaiting her study in the workroom and to the plethora of possibilities its treatment opened up for her. "As it happens," she said, with renewed enthusiasm, "I have just been assigned a complete conservation, from initial assessment through to final re-framing."

"That sound most promising. It is too much to hope, I suppose, that it is a painting of some importance?"

"Very likely none," Bonnie conceded, "although there is some small doubt on that score. My first order of business will be to determine whether the family's claim of an original Lebrun has any merit."

"Lebrun," Madame repeated, with a lift of her finely-shaped brows. "A French artist, then. There have been many renowned painters by that name. It would not, perhaps, be the work of Émile Lebrun? Not a top tier talent, perhaps, but respectable."

"No, a much less recent artist." Bonnie hesitated, feeling all the absurdity of the attribution she was about to propose. "Antoine Lebrun."

Madame burst out in a merry laugh. "Ah, ma chère, that is a fine joke! An unknown Lebrun, parbleu! Such a find would set the art world on its heels." She chuckled at so fantastical a notion.

"You are doubtless right to scoff, Madame, but I plan to err on the side of caution all the same, and proceed as if the work is truly Lebrun's, at least until it can be proven otherwise."

"Very wise, my dear. You must let me know how you go on, and if I can be of any service. I can, for example, give you the names of one or two Lebrun scholars of my acquaintance."

"I would appreciate that, Madame, very much. Given his fame, it's remarkable how little biographical information I've been able to locate about him."

"I am not an art historian, Bonnie, but I can tell you two things about Lebrun: he was a towering talent, and a most wicked libertine."


	20. Chapter 20: Libertine

20\. Libertine

Over the next week, Bonnie discovered a great deal about Antoine Lebrun, but in the process, he became rather more of a mystery than less.

Madame Vincent had come through brilliantly on her offer of help. She had not contented herself merely with providing a list of Lebrun scholars, but had gone the additional step of contacting her acquaintances, and requesting a bibliography of the most useful books and articles on Lebrun and his oeuvre. One of these acquaintances, a professor Martineau of the Sorbonne, was pleased to recommend, among other titles, a recent doctoral dissertation by one of his program's star students, Michel Doucette. Entitled _Du frivole à l'austère_ , Doucette's as-yet-unpublished book was a survey of the most important painters of the French Rococo period, and contained a chapter entirely devoted to Lebrun, both as a man and an artist. Such was his enthusiasm for the "new insights" produced by Doucette's work, Martineau had, with the author's kind permission, emailed Bonnie the relevant pages.

Doucette's biography of Lebrun was a far cry from the dry, unvarnished enumeration of dates and places Bonnie had already consulted. Having, for years, poured over dusty volumes of the personal correspondence of long-dead French noblemen and women, Doucette had gleaned a profound understanding of the social and artistic scenes of the late eighteenth century, and had, more importantly, unearthed a wealth of detail about the major painters of the time. His chapter on Lebrun was not only extremely informative but as easy and engaging to read as any novel. Indeed, if Doucette's text had not positively bristled with supporting footnotes, Bonnie might have been tempted to believe he had invented the incidents he recounted out of whole cloth.

From previous research, Bonnie had already learned certain facts: Antoine Lebrun had been born in Paris in 1750, the son of a moderately-successful painter and art-dealer. From a very early age, he had shown exceptional artistic potential, and had been trained, first, by his father, and, in late adolescence, by Pierre-Louis Chauvin, one of the most highly-regarded painters of the era. After only two years of apprenticeship, Lebrun's painting _La famille tranquille_ gained him the coveted Bourse de Rome, a prestigious scholarship that paid his fees and provided him a stipend while he studied for three years in the Eternal City. It was during this period that he met and befriended French age-mate and fellow artist, Eugène Blanchard.

Doucette's wide reading and deep digging had allowed him to flesh out this bare-boned portrait of the young Lebrun. Death records showed that the artist's mother, Marie Anne Lebrun, had died in childbed when he was five years old. His grief-stricken father had not remarried, preferring to raise his son on his own with, in support, the services of a cook-housekeeper, Mme Trouville, herself a widow. Based on the somewhat sentimental, idealized pictures of family life that survived from this phase of Lebrun's career, Doucette deduced that the three-person household, while small, had provided the child with a stable and happy-enough home. The composition of the household did not change until, the housekeeper's strength and energy declining with age, a teen-aged niece, one of twelve children her sister had birthed, was invited to take up service as her aunt's assistant and maid-of-all-work.

Lebrun returned to Paris a more worldly and sophisticated young man, his head full of the marvels, both natural and man-made, that he and his friend Blanchard had seen in Italy and elsewhere on their tour of the continent. His paintings from this period, most of them versions of scenes taken from the Bible or classical mythology, reflected the influence Roman history, art and architecture had exerted on his imagination, and were widely acclaimed for the exuberance of their style and the artist's superb technical skill. One of these paintings was purchased by Louis XV himself, and was displayed for a time at Versailles.

It was at this point in his life that Lebrun, aged twenty-five, completed _La Coupe d'amour_ , the painting which was to be his crowning achievement to date and which, Doucette was at pains to underscore, marked a turning point in both Lebrun's personal and professional life. At the _Salon_ of 1775, _La Coupe d'amour_ , with its gallant subject matter, voluptuous central figure, and graceful, fluid style, was universally proclaimed the year's standout masterpiece. The King's mistress, Madame du Barry, was so taken with the image, she immediately commissioned Lebrun to execute a suite of paintings for her new residence, and where du Barry led, the obscenely-rich, self-indulgent and hedonistic French nobility followed. Lebrun never again unveiled his paintings at officially-sanctioned public art shows. He painted exclusively for the land-owning gentry who fancied themselves patrons of the arts, or who simply wanted to see their lascivious fantasies depicted on canvas.

Whereas before _La Coupe d'amour_ , Lebrun had found his subjects in religion, classical culture, genre scenes and nature, his output afterward tended decidedly toward the erotic, with the occasional painting approaching the mildly pornographic. Doucette cited clear evidence from the historical record that, in some instances, Lebrun was simply accommodating his patron, as in the case of _La Balançoire_ where a lecherous baron had himself represented lying in tall grass in such a position as to be able to see up the skirt of the woman he hoped to make his mistress as she innocently enjoyed herself on a sylvan swing. In opting to picture only illicit lovers' meetings, stolen kisses, naked bathers, entwined couples in various stages of undress and bawdy bedroom scenes, Lebrun may well have been merely reflecting the promiscuity and frivolity of the decadent upper class that employed him, but that explanation, in Doucette's view, only begged the question of why Lebrun had suddenly abandoned his earlier artistic aspirations in favor of unabashed commercialism. It was Doucette's contention that some incident had occurred to sour Lebrun on art in particular and life in general, but, apart from a decisive break with Blanchard, Doucette could discover no watershed event to account for the profound change in Lebrun.

It was over the course of the next fifteen years, a time of unconscionable excess that would eventually culminate in the horrors of the French Revolution, that Lebrun's reputation as a libertine was firmly established. In the letters of Madame de Robitaille, a prominent social hostess of the era, Doucette found several recommendations of Lebrun as a "most obliging" man whose outstanding talents were not limited to the pictorial arts. It was, apparently, generally understood among the bored and idle wives of his noble clients that to hire Lebrun was practically to guarantee oneself supplementary services of the most pleasurable kind. "You will find him somewhat cold in demeanor, bordering, indeed, on insolence," Mme de Robitaille wrote to one of her friends, "but do not let yourself be put off by his prickly manner. You will have nothing to complain of, I assure you, in the performance of his prick." In a reply dated some three months after Lebrun had delivered her portrait, the recipient of this letter, a young countess, announced the joyful news that she and her aged husband had, at long last, conceived a child and possible heir, thereby potentially securing the succession. It did not go unremarked, by Mme de Robitaille and others, that the little boy, as he grew, more closely resembled Lebrun than the Count.

While it was impossible to know precisely how many cuckoos Lebrun had planted in noble nests, it was a matter of record that Lebrun sired no legitimate offspring. He did marry later in life, but for convenience rather than love: the French Revolution having decimated his client base, he found himself in need of a considerable dowry to mend his finances. With the changing times, Lebrun's effervescent, sensual style of painting passed completely out of fashion, and the once-chosen painter of the reviled nobility could not, in the end, make the transition, as Doucette phrased it, from the frivolous to the austere. He died in Paris, poor and largely forgotten, in 1815.

Upon finishing Doucette's chapter, Bonnie felt herself at once better informed and more powerfully intrigued. Why, she found herself wondering along with Doucette, had the ambitious young Lebrun declined the traditional career path of a typical French academician with all its attendant public exposure and critical honors for the unsung if well-remunerated life of a private painter? What could have happened to disillusion so promising a man?

The question was so much on her mind that Bonnie decided to run it by her grandfather. She had been keeping him company as he watched the broadcast of the Nationals' ball game against the visiting Phillies, her mind only half on the action. When the seventh-inning stretch rolled around, she quickly outlined Lebrun's biography for him. "You're a student of human nature, Gramps. Any ideas?"

He did not so much as hesitate. "Cherchez la femme."

It was a second or two before Bonnie could make out his meaning. Grandpa B's French accent was not exactly Parisian. "You think there's a woman at the root of it all?"

Her grandfather shrugged. "It's the first rule of detective fiction. It may be a cliché, but that doesn't mean it can't hold up. You ask me, that Frenchman got his heart broken somewhere along the line, and wound up a bitter, angry guy."

Bonnie was mulling this over when a new excitement in the game-commentator's voice caught her attention. "Now, that's what I call a catch! Bare-handed, too! D'you see that, Dave?"

"Snatched that ball right out of the air! That's right, sir: take a bow! You deserve it!"

Having missed the action, Bonnie watched the instant replay: a foul ball arched high into the stands, where a dark-haired man in a black Nationals' jacket leapt from his seat and stopped the ball in one ungloved hand. Grinning hugely, he proudly held up the ball for the other spectators in his section to admire, and laughingly accepted their applause. "Gramps! Look!" The dead-ringer for her favorite cousin gallantly offered his souvenir to an attractive blond woman whose long, over-processed hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. The replay ended before Bonnie could be absolutely sure, but she thought she'd recognized Valeria Dunbar. "That was Eddie!"

"Eddie?" Her grandfather echoed blankly. "Don't think so. Could be, I suppose. I don't know. Didn't get a good look."

There was something about his offhand manner that struck Bonnie as suspect. "Gramps," she said carefully, "there's some game afoot, isn't there? What's going on?"

"The only game I know of is the one I'm watching," he answered somewhat testily, and try as she might, Bonnie could not cajole him into admitting more.

A/N: Those curious about the artist and painting which inspired this sub-plot are invited to google Jean-Honoré Fragonard's "Fountain of Love."


	21. Chapter 21: Charity

21\. Charity

For some, the vernal equinox in late March heralded the beginning of Spring, while for others it was the first pitch of the baseball season, or the arrival of the Easter Bunny. For Bonnie, however, it was not truly Spring until the weekend of the Annual B & B Foundation Carnival for Children's Charities.

The carnival that had launched the family tradition had been the brainchild of then Special Agent Seeley Booth, who had organized the event to provide an evening of fun and frolic for children suffering from neurofibromatosis. He had done so out of the goodness of his heart and without fanfare; indeed, he would have kept his charitable work secret even from his wife if he'd been able, but that had proved impossible. Encouraged by his initial success, Booth had put together a second, and then a third carnival, each so well-received and so rewarding that, before he quite knew how it happened, the Carnival for Children became a highly-anticipated yearly event. For a decade, the carnival remained small in scale and scope, bounded by the size of the hospital parking lot in which it was held and by the children it benefitted. Over time, as friends and family were allowed to contribute help and ideas, the aims of the charity expanded to include raising funds as well as kids' spirits, and the event was transformed into a whole-day affair open to the general public. To accommodate the greater number of rides, games, and concessions, the carnival was moved to spacious fairgrounds in Arlington, Virginia.

When Christine Booth-Hodgins took over directorship of the B & B Foundation, she made it clear to her nephews, sons and daughter that she expected them to take an active role in the family's charitable endeavors. Leading up to each year's carnival, the children were tasked with contributing in ways befitting their ages and abilities. The youngest typically helped out with publicity, tacking flyers up on their schools' bulletin boards and talking up the event with their classmates, while their elders engaged in a friendly competition to see who could sell the most advanced tickets, a competition invariably won by Eddie, of course. On the day of the event, the older children were required to work for a time, too, either selling or taking tickets alongside the carnival employees, or wandering the grounds as a goodwill ambassador of sorts, handing out free balloons and volunteering help as needed.

In her freshman year at university, away from home and up to her eyeballs in final papers and exams, Bonnie had, for the first time, been unable to assist with the preparations for the carnival. Determined nonetheless to do her part, she had hit on the idea of purchasing as many tickets as her finances allowed, and donating the lot to the Arlington Boys and Girls Club for distribution. That had turned out so well, she had made it her standard practice, and her cousin Sonny, inspired by her example, now did something similar. This year, Bonnie had purchased even more day-passes than usual in order to be able to offer each of her co-workers a pair. Everyone had accepted the tickets with thanks and every appearance of pleasure, except for Dr. Baer, who had tried to insist on reimbursing her. "No," Bonnie told him resolutely, clasping her hands behind her back. "If you have to repay me, come to the carnival and buy lots of fried dough and cotton candy. Half of all concession sales goes to funding our charities."

He tucked the tickets into his shirt pocket without further argument. "I'll pass these on to Val. She has Danny for the weekend."

Bonnie felt a pang of disappointment; Val Dunbar did not strike her as the carnival-going type and she hated to think Danny might miss out. "I really hope she can bring him. There's a mini-dinosaur aerial ride in the kiddie area he would like, and a dragon roller coaster, too."

"I'll tell her, and, if it looks like she won't use the tickets, I'll make sure they don't go to waste."

The long-range forecast calling for cloudy skies and unseasonably cool temperatures had caused several days of anxiety, but happily the weather did not conform to predictions. The morning of the carnival dawned bright with sun, and by the time Booth and Bonnie climbed into the SteerE, they hardly needed the light jackets they had pulled on. As planned, they arrived shortly after the gates opened, but even so, there were already small groups of teens scoping out the games and rides, excitedly discussing how best to use their time and money. The crowd was still small enough that Bonnie, her arm through her grandfather's, did not need to worry overmuch about his being jostled as they strolled slowly down the midway. The stalls that lined the way were noisy with the calls of barkers, and festive with their multi-colored stuffed-animal prizes enticingly on display. An older carnie whom Bonnie recognized from previous years broke off his patter to call out, "Good morning, Mr. B.," a greeting Booth returned with a wide smile and cordial wave. The concessionaire at the fried dough stand, also recognizing Mr. B., would have pressed free samples on them, but Booth declined politely, temporizing, "Maybe later!"

They had gone as far as the ferris wheel when Booth drew to a halt, and, tilting his head back, gazed up at the enormous wheel with its radiating spokes and rainbow-hued gondolas, hanging for the moment perfectly still. Bonnie thought, at first, he needed a moment's rest, but then she saw a small, private smile curl his lips. "What's the joke, Gramps?"

"What? Oh, nothing! A good memory, that's all. I was remembering the time your Grammy reconciled with her brother in the shadow of a wheel like this. Russ was working for a small-time carnival outfit back then, taking tickets and doing maintenance on some pretty beat-up machinery. I can tell you, as a former carnie himself, he got a real kick out of our hiring a whole carnival to raise money for charity."

"I remember Uncle Russ," Bonnie volunteered. "He was a good guy."

Grandpa B nodded. "I had my doubts going in, but he straightened out, and made a good life for himself and his family. Got to respect a man like that."

"Yes, indeed." Bonnie waited for her grandfather to continue, but as he didn't, she nudged his shoulder playfully. "So, what do you say, Gramps? Shall we go for a spin?" He shot her a long-suffering look out of the corner of his eye, which she translated, correctly, as 'in your dreams, Tootsie Pop.'

Bonnie bit back a smile, and looking up at the great wheel, was suddenly struck by a sweet memory of her own: she'd had her first kiss in one of those gondolas a decade before. They'd been a group of six that night, boys and girls mixed, kids she knew from the tennis club. Trev had been her doubles partner by then for about six months, and she considered him a good pal and a nice person, nothing more. To cap off a great evening, they had decided on a last ride on the ferris wheel, and it just so happened, or so Bonnie'd thought, that she wound up in the same car as Trev. They had reveled in the brilliant, swiftly-changing patterns of light created by the rides so far below, and pointed out to each other the landmarks visible even beyond the fairgrounds. The night breeze had cut through their windbreakers, ruffled their hair, and blown the words from their mouths. When, finally, the wheel came to a halt, they found themselves stopped at the apex, the sky a starry vault above them, the dark spread of earth below alive with tiny beings moving among miniature structures. "I'm on top of the world," Bonnie had exulted, and Trev, without missing a beat, had leaned in toward her and said with simple sincerity, "I always feel that way when I'm with you." She had been caught so unawares, she had only gaped at him, and he had taken advantage to close the distance between them and press his lips ever so gently to hers. It wasn't until much later that she learned Trev had arranged the timing of the stop with a generous bride to the ride operator.

Coming out of her reverie, she found her grandfather eyeing her with misgiving. "Don't tell me," he said, before she could so much as open her mouth. "I know that look, and, seriously, ignorance is bliss."

Bonnie was still chuckling when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she saw a gangly, strawberry-blonde teenager with snapping blue eyes and a lopsided grin on his freckled face. He had plucked the string of a red helium balloon from the dozen he held tightly in his fist, and held it out to her. "For the pretty lady."

"Hankster!" Bonnie took the proffered string, and swooped in so quickly, her cousin did not entirely succeed in ducking her kiss on his cheek. He submitted with better grace to Grandpa B's one-armed hug, which was all the bouquet of balloons would allow. His head now topped their grandfather's shoulder, Bonnie was surprised to note. When had that happened? "Are your parents here? And Reese?"

Hank III gestured further up the midway. "Dad and Reese are over at the carousel. Mom went off somewhere with Aunt Christine." He lingered a few minutes longer, answering questions about school, sports and his new passion, drumming, but it was plain from his restless movements that he wanted to be off distributing balloons so he could get to the fun part of his day. "Catch you guys later," he said in parting, only to call back cheekily as he moved off, "And thanks for coming to the B & B Foundation Carnival!"

Booth watched his grandson's jaunty progress down the midway, saw him approach and engage a young mother and child and leave them both smiling, a sunny yellow balloon tied loosely round the little girl's wrist. "God help us all if he's inherited the man's charm as well as his looks."

Bonnie had always thought Hank III took after his mother's side of the family. "Who'd that be, Gramps?"

"Grammy's father, Max."

They resumed walking, stopping only long enough en route to the carousel for Bonnie to pass her balloon on to small child. They could heard the music, even at a distance: an aggressively cheerful polka, enlivened by tinkling scales and punctuated with the occasional crash of cymbals. As they drew near, they caught their first glimpse of the carousel turning, the oval mirrors and heavy gilt decorations of the rounding boards shiny and bright with reflected sun. Their view was partly obstructed by spectators standing along the perimeter barrier, but Bonnie could still make out the rise and fall of the painted ponies as they circled majestically past.

Reese no sooner spotted them than he abandoned his place as assistant ticket-taker, and ran to meet them. At eleven, he was not yet of an age to shun physical affection, and willingly allowed himself to be pulled into a bear hug, kissed and mussed. Preliminary greetings over, Reese tucked himself securely under his grandfather's arm, happy as a clam. When asked his father's whereabouts, Reese pointed to the carousel. "He's sitting on one of those bench things. Look! There he is! Dad!"

Whether because the music was too loud, or the image on his vid-screen too engrossing, Hank II gave no indication of having heard his son's shout. The platform revolved, carrying him, the lone occupant of his horseless sleigh, out of sight. "Bet you didn't expect to be doing this ever again, eh, Gramps?" Bonnie said on a teasing note.

"Watching Hank ride the merry-go-round?" Grandpa B snorted, amused. "You got that right! I thought those days were long gone." He smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. "Good times, those. All you kids loved riding the carousel."

"Not everyone," Bonnie felt obliged to remind him.

"You mean your mother? True enough: she never got any pleasure out of it, always fussing and fuming to get off. Your Grammy tried to warn me, but I thought Christine was just afraid, and would get over it. But, nope, nothing doing."

Her mother was the most fearless woman Bonnie knew, and the most impatient. Young Christine had not been frightened by the blaring music and nauseating motion of the carousel, but acutely bored. She could see no purpose in looping endlessly round and round, tracing circle after circle, making no progress. From an early age, she had been all about getting somewhere, moving forward, having a destination. Riding a carousel had been an annoying waste of her time.

The music cut out, and the carousel coasted slowly to a stop. Hank stepped down from the platform and strode toward them, a broad smile on his face. Bonnie estimated her uncle had put on a few pounds since being called to the Federal bench; doubtless prosecuting attorneys had more time for racquetball than sitting judges. Even with the added weight, he looked less than his fifty years: his sandy brown hair showed little gray, his skin was relatively unlined, and his eyes were, as ever, a brilliant blue. "Dad!" He enveloped his father in a careful hug, and was clapped several times on the back in return. Stepping back, he said, "You look great! Feeling all right? I'm sorry I haven't been out to the house much lately…"

Booth waved the apology away. "You're busy. I understand. New job and all."

"Yeah, I'll tell you all about it, but first…" He turned to Bonnie, and, drawing her into a one-armed embrace, tapped his cheek meaningfully. She obliged him with a resounding smack on the spot. "How's the most beautiful of my nieces?"

It was his usual, tired line, but Bonnie didn't call him on it. "Fine, Your Honor."

"You mock," he said serenely, "but it hasn't gotten old for me yet. Which reminds me, I heard a plea from that young man of yours, Wyndham-Pryce, a few weeks back. Gave a good account of himself. Well-reasoned, solid argument. Bright future, there. Happy for you."

Bonnie smiled at this none-too-subtle stab at matchmaking and replied only, "I'll tell him you said so, Nuncle. It'll make his day."

Hank looked slightly alarmed. "Are you meeting up soon?"

"What? Oh, no. Not until late this afternoon."

"That's all right, then. I promised Christine I'd send you over to the Crafters' Pavilion the moment I saw you. Annalise is already out there, helping with God-knows-what. I know she'll be glad to see you."

Bonnie, too, welcomed the prospect of catching up with her aunt, one of the sweetest, most kind-hearted souls in existence, but she was reluctant to leave her grandfather. "You go on, do your bit" Grandpa B said, seeing her hesitation. "Hank here'll be chewing my ear off for at least the next hour or so."

"You'll be lucky to get away that quickly," Hank laughed. He patted Bonnie's shoulder reassuringly. "I'll take it from here, hon."

Bonnie did not bring herself to leave until she saw father and son settled on an aluminum bench within easy view of the carousel. She turned back once for a last look at them, and saw Hank already in full spate, his hands gesturing in support of his words while beside him, her grandfather listened, his head nodding thoughtfully. She smiled to see them, and set off with an easy heart toward whatever task her mother had in store for her.


	22. Chapter 22: Encounters

22\. Encounters

Bonnie no sooner found her mother than she was directed to help her Aunt Annalise at the mobbed raffle table. As in previous years, the B & B Foundation had commissioned a quilt from a local fiber artist, and this year, the woman had outdone herself. Knowing that all proceeds from the raffle were earmarked for supporting the Children's Hospital's Life Flight service, the designer had chosen, appropriately enough, the traditional flying geese pattern, but she had, in addition, very cleverly pieced the straight lines of tiny triangles so that they arrowed from a central circle like spokes from a hub, creating, through the use of varying line lengths and colors, the illusion of swiftly spinning blades, as of a helicopter in motion. Seeing the quilt hanging in all its finely-worked glory on the wall behind the raffle table, Bonnie had never been sorrier that family members were prohibited from participating in the lottery.

The demand was such that Bonnie and Annalise had no more than the odd moment for sharing their news. They had all they could do to field questions, fill in ticket stubs and make change. At one point, Bonnie feared they would run out of ticket books, but the rush slowed considerably after a time, and that danger passed. Annalise took advantage of the decreased traffic to take an early lunch, so Bonnie was quite alone when Gabby Franklin, accompanied by twin preteen girls, bustled up to the table. "Bonnie! Hello! I was hoping I'd see you! These are my nieces," she said, waving the girls forward. "Hailey and Hadley. Girls, this is Miss Booth-Hodgins. Do you have something you'd like to say to her?"

"Thank you for the tickets, Miss Booth-Hodgins," the girls caroled in astounding synchrony.

Bonnie could not contain a smile at such charming behavior. "Thank you for coming. Are you having a fun time?"

The small, smoothly-coiffed heads bobbed earnestly.

"They've been on a number of rides already," Gabby confided, "so I thought we'd take a break and have a look around here. Beautiful stuff, such talent. I wish I had a bottomless purse."

"It'll only cost you $2.50 for a chance to win this year's quilt. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Stunning," Gabby agreed, leaning in to admire the rich fabrics and tiny stitches. "And it's for a very worthy cause, I see. I have the worst luck with raffles, but still, you never know. It's five tickets for a ten spot? I'll do that."

Gabby might have lingered a while longer but for the trio of young women who ambled up behind her, and stood waiting their turn. They were, all three of them, attractive blonds in their twenties dressed in the latest fashion of cigarette jeans with bolero-style jackets worn over long, gauzy blouses. When Gabby had moved off, herding her nieces before her, the tallest of the three stepped forward and gave Bonnie the full benefit of her thousand-watt smile. "Bonnie!" She extended a hand in a crisp, practiced motion. "What luck running into you!"

There was something in her firm grip and quasi-professional cheeriness that jogged Bonnie's memory. "Miss Greeley! Vanna," she corrected herself, shaking the woman's hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"I'm flattered you remember me. Honestly, I didn't expect you to. It's been weeks since that fundraiser!" She half-turned, and gestured to her companions, both of whom were busy consulting their vid-screens. "Those gorgeous gals are my sisters, Charlotte and Augusta."

Bonnie couldn't help but grin. "You don't happen to have another sister at home named Atlanta or a brother named Raleigh?"

Vanna took the ribbing in good part. "Fortunately, no. And if there'd been a fourth daughter, heaven help her, she'd have been called Tallahassee! No lie!" They shared a chuckle at the Greeley parents' idiosyncrasy, and then Vanna shifted her eyes away from Bonnie, and up to the quilt. "That really is the most exquisite needlework. I would truly love to have that in my hope chest."

"Hope chest?" Bonnie echoed. "What's that?"

Vanna regarded her quizzically, as though suspecting Bonnie was joking again. "You know, a wooden chest — mine's made of cedar — where you store sheets and blankets, towels and tablecloths for when you get married and set up your own household. Do you mean to say you really don't have one? I thought, what with you and Trev being practically engaged…"

Bonnie shook her head. "It's not a custom I'm familiar with."

"Well, fancy that! Mine's full fair to bursting, but I'd make room for that quilt, believe you me! Let's see… I'll take five tickets for myself, and five for each of my sisters. That way, if one of them wins, they can give me the quilt as a wedding present!"

Bonnie had to smile at Vanna's enthusiasm and vivacity; she'd liked her the first time they'd met, and now Bonnie remembered why. "Sounds like all you need is the groom," she said lightly, taking the bills Vanna held out to her. "Any candidates?"

"You know," Vanna drawled playfully, "I think I might've found one. I just met him a short while back, and I'm not sure he even knows I exist yet, but …" Her eyes danced with mischief and she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "He's got definite possibilities."

Bonnie spared the hapless fellow in question just a moment's pity; if Vanna decided she wanted him, the poor guy wasn't going to have much choice in the matter. Not that he'd likely mind…

By the time Bonnie had written the necessary information onto the stubs and handed Vanna her tickets, Charlotte and Augusta had wandered some feet away to check out the handcrafted jewelry. Vanna cast a look about her, and seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, smiled at Bonnie with a little less than her customary confidence. "I was wondering, as you seem to have a free minute, if you wouldn't mind giving me a bit of advice."

The request caught Bonnie by surprise, but, curiosity aroused, she replied easily enough, "Okay. What's up?"

"Well, you know Senator Wyndham-Pryce so much better than I do, so I thought you would know what he might like for his birthday. I know Freya — Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce — said bringing a gift wasn't necessary, but I don't feel right going to a party empty-handed."

Bonnie felt sure she must have misheard. The Senator's birthday was always celebrated in the bosom of his family with, at most, a few close friends mixed in. "You've been invited to the party up at the lake house?"

Vanna nodded. "A few of us staffers. You know, as a kind of thank you for all our work on the campaign. So…" She looked at Bonnie trustingly. "Any ideas?"

Bonnie did not answer immediately, torn between the desire to help and the urge to be selfish. She had the perfect gift in mind, a gift she knew from past experience would please the Senator greatly, but if she tipped Vanna off, she'd be leaving herself in the lurch. She gazed into Vanna's hopeful face, and stifled a sigh. "The Senator collects duck-hunting memorabilia, like wooden duck calls and hand-carved decoys. He doesn't hunt anymore, but I guess he used to go out with his dad once upon a time. Anyway, you may have noticed a woodcarver's display just as you entered the pavilion: McTeague Woodworking. The Senator has a number of McTeague decoys already, and he really likes their craftsmanship. Tell McTeague who you're buying for, and let him recommend a model. He probably has a good idea what the Senator already owns."

A wide smile spread over Vanna's pretty face. "That sounds perfect! I'll head right on over. Thanks so much, Bonnie! I owe you one!"

Bonnie was careful not to release her sigh until Vanna was well out of ear shot.

Her aunt's return after, it had to be said, a protracted lunch break provided Bonnie a welcome diversion from her thoughts, while the basket of french fries and bottled water Annalise had brought back for her went some way to appeasing Bonnie's hunger. It was just as well her aunt had thought to feed her, because it was nearly mid-afternoon before Christine returned to assume charge of the table. She took a quick tally of the neat bundles of bills in the till, and nodded in satisfaction. "I think this is more money than we raised last year, and that was a record amount. Thanks for your help, Anna," she said, kissing her sister-in-law in parting. "Are you off home, or staying around for a while?"

Annalise grimaced in apprehension. "I promised Reese I'd ride the Zipper with him."

"The Zipper!" Christine exclaimed, horrified. "You'll make yourself sick! Why can't Hank do it?"

"You know how it is." Annalise shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes a boy just wants his mother."

Bonnie did not expect her mother to have any patience with this sentiment, and so was not surprised when Christine merely shook her head at her sister-in-law's receding back. "And how about you?" she said, turning to Bonnie. "What're your plans?"

This was not, Bonnie suspected, as casual a question as it sounded. "Lunch, first and foremost. And then I'll have a couple of hours to kill before I meet Trev. I thought I'd have a walk around, take in the atmosphere, maybe check in with some of the game operators I know. Why? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well, as you'll be wandering around anyway, you could shoot some video for the website. Max and Junior are already on it, but knowing them, their video will feature nothing but pretty girls in tight sweaters and short skirts. It would be nice to have some footage of families and little children enjoying the day."

As additional tasks went, this one suited Bonnie to a tee. "No problem. I'll make a point of swinging through the kiddie area."

After hours cooped up indoors, it was a pure pleasure to be out in the sunshine again. The carnival was now in full, frenetic swing, the concourses thronged with people, adults moving sedately and stopping often to dawdle while teenagers pinballed excitedly from one activity to another, only just avoiding strollers and the slower visitors along their path. Over the constant babble of voices and the rhythmic creaks, clanks and clatter of heavy machinery, whoops, shouts, and high-pitched screams rose into the air, piercing the ear and gladdening the heart. Bonnie ate her guilty pleasure of a meal — funnel cake and candied apple — on the hoof, passing from one snatch of pop music into another, and resisting, with general success, the hollered exhortations of the game concessionaires. Hands finally free, she did succumb to the temptation to play one game of "Break a Plate," and came away with a respectable, if small, plush toy prize which she gave away at the first opportunity.

Taking her vid-screen out of her pocket, she turned her steps to the kiddie area, keeping an eye out for appealing family groups along the way. Whenever she stopped, she was careful to introduce herself and her objective, and was met invariably with open smiles and happy acquiescence. She shot video after video: here, an adorable toddler waved cheerfully from behind the steering wheel of a miniature boat, there, wide-eyed preschoolers grinned in mixed exhilaration and fear as they sped past on the dipping, tilting roller-coaster. Older children screeched deliriously as they were flung about in spinning cups and cages, while still others raced through the Fun House's obstacle course, running up its towers and over its swaying suspension bridges to the top of the large, see-through tunnel. Hoping for a last, great action shot, Bonnie positioned herself at the foot of the long slide, and set the recorder going, only to nearly drop the vid-screen in surprise at the sight of the little body that rocketed out at her.

"Danny!" she called out, rushing toward the air mattress that had cushioned his fall. "Danny Baer!"


	23. Chapter 23: Hoopla

23\. Hoopla

"Hi, Miss Bonnie!" Danny scrambled over and off the mattress without assistance, a huge grin on his pixie face. "Did you see me? I went down really fast."

"I did see you! Was it fun? It looked like fun!"

He nodded emphatically. "I'm going to go again! Watch me!" With that, he pelted back toward the entrance ramp before she could say "boo."

Bonnie straightened, and scanned the ranks of spectators, craning her neck for a glimpse of Val, but she saw no one even vaguely resembling Danny's mother. She had begun to fear that Val had sauntered some ways off, leaving her son unattended, when her anxious gaze was caught by a tall, dark-haired man looking her way through aviator sunglasses, just a hint of a smile on his face. Her breath whooshing out in relief, she smiled broadly, and walked over to join Dr. Baer. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

He spared her a long look in greeting before turning his attention back to the Fun House. "I gathered that," he said, a note of dry humor in his voice.

"Val wasn't interested in coming?"

"No, she was. Is, I should say. She's planning on coming tonight for the live music, but that doesn't start till late."

It wasn't a question, but Bonnie volunteered in confirmation, "That's right. There'll be a series of performers, local bands and singers, beginning at six."

"Which is hardly the ideal time to bring a five-year-old to a carnival, as I pointed out to her. She was happy enough to let me take Danny for the afternoon and overnight."

At that very moment, Bonnie realized she hadn't seen Eddie all day, or heard anything about him. Did he and Val have a rendezvous for the evening, and was he the reason behind Val's ready agreement to let Danny spend the night with his dad? If so, she couldn't be entirely sorry, as it had worked out to her little pal's advantage. "I'm glad you were able to bring him. Have you been here long?"

Dr. Baer twisted his wrist and consulted his watch. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow, exposing strong, sinewy forearms. "Going on three hours. Danny's been on every kiddie ride at least once, and some, like that Mini Dino ride and the Dragon Wagon, three times. He's been in the Fun House for the last fifteen minutes. I'm beginning to think I'll never get him out."

Danny had climbed to the first of the two suspension bridges, and had stopped about halfway across the quaking structure to jump up and down and wave his arms gleefully in their direction. They waved back, and Danny was off again, clambering toward the raised platform. "He looks like he still has plenty of gas left in the tank."

"Don't be fooled," Dr. Baer said. "He's running on fumes. The next time he comes down that slide, we'll start working our way toward the exit."

That reminded her. "I've been collecting video of kids here at the carnival, and I caught Danny just now squirting out of the tunnel. I haven't seen the clip yet, and don't know if it's usable, but if it is, would you mind our posting it as part of a montage on the foundation website? Of course, if you'd rather not…"

"Just pictures, no names, right? Can I see it first?" When Bonnie had reassured him on both counts, he nodded. "All right, sure."

They stood silently side by side for a time watching the children's hijinks and high spirits. Bonnie laughed to see some of their antics. "They're having such a great time!" She turned to Dr. Baer with a smile. "How about you? Did you have any fun today?"

"Yeah," he admitted, almost grudgingly. "You know: vicariously."

Bonnie knew what he meant. "Seeing the kids brings it all back, doesn't it? All the joy, the awful excitement?" When Dr. Baer failed to chime in, she glanced over at him. "No?"

He shrugged. "I lived in rural Maryland growing up. Not many carnivals made it out our way. There was the occasional church fair or family day, but my father couldn't be coaxed into going. He thought it was a waste of hard-earned money."

There were not a few people in the world with that kill-joy attitude, Bonnie knew. "And your mother?"

He was so long in replying, Bonnie thought he might not have heard. Looking over, she saw his gaze fixed on the play structure, his expression stony. "She wasn't around."

Bonnie winced inwardly. It had not been her intention, but that did not change the fact that she had hit Dr. Baer in a sore spot. She could not even pardon herself on the grounds of ignorance: she'd been told Danny had no paternal grandparents, and had simply forgotten. Before she could apologize, Dr. Baer excused himself, and, moving closer to the Fun House, drew his son's attention and gestured him toward the final platform and the exit slide. Bonnie was still smarting from her blunder when her vid-screen vibrated: a message from Trev. He was on his way, and would meet her just inside the main gate. She had sent an acknowledgement, and was re-pocketing her device when Dr. Baer, holding Danny by the hand, came back toward her.

"Did you see, Miss Bonnie?" Danny's face was flushed and happy, but, close up, Bonnie could indeed see signs of approaching exhaustion. "I didn't fall, not one time!"

"No, you didn't! You did great!" She knew Dr. Baer was ready to leave, but was not quite prepared, herself, to part from them. "Can I walk with you a while?" she asked, reaching a hand down to Danny. "We're going in the same direction, I think."

He gave her his free hand willingly, and they set off at a leisurely pace. Danny walked between the two adults, occasionally breaking into a hop or a skip and chattering with the barest of promptings about his day's adventures and accomplishments. He was describing a particularly funny clown he'd seen when an amplified voice cut across, drowning him out. "You, sir! That's right," the barker of the Hoops Game called, indicating Dr. Baer. "Your lady doesn't have a single prize. That any way to treat a pretty girl like her? And how 'bout that boy of yours? You can bet he'd like to take home a plush toy souvenir." He motioned to the rows of stuffed animals hanging on either side of the chain link stall. "All you got to do is sink one ball. Three balls for ten dollars."

Dr. Baer would have ignored the cordial hectoring, and continued on but for Danny who had stopped, transfixed by the sight of a large orange toy that could, conceivably, be construed as a tyrannosaurus rex or, at the very least, a large-headed dragon. He transferred his gaze to his father, saying nothing, but looking an unmistakable appeal with his eyes. "Danny," Dr. Baer began reasonably. "You already have a roomful of stuffed animals at home. You don't need another one."

Danny didn't whine or argue, but returned his gaze to the vivid, big-eyed creature hanging so tantalizingly near.

"It's a fool's game," Dr. Baer said, addressing himself to Bonnie. "That hoop up there looks plenty wide, but what you don't know is it's more an oblong shape than a circle. And the ball's usually overinflated so chances of making the shot are virtually nil. It's rigged, like most midway games."

Bonnie was having none of it. "That may be true at other carnivals, but not here. Our main purpose is to raise money, sure, but we also want visitors to have a great experience, and enjoy their day. The outfit we hire is strictly above-board. Trust me: both the hoop and the balls are regulation. Given your height, you might have to stand farther back than the regular free-throw distance, but that's the only difference."

While they waffled, a well-muscled young man had risen to the barker's challenge, and was taking his shots with a view to impressing his date, a cute little miss who cheered him on even as he failed to sink first one, then another, and finally, the third of his allotted balls.

Dr. Baer turned back to Bonnie with a superior look, his brows arched as if to say "what'd I tell you?"

At this provocation, Bonnie raised her chin, and met his eyes squarely. "That only proves _he_ couldn't do it, not that it can't be done." When he continued to look at her sidelong, she burst out, "You know what, doubting Thomas? I'll show you. I may not win the prize Danny wants, but I'll win something!"

He crossed his arms over his chest, and frowned down at her. "You're throwing your money away."

Bonnie leaned down to Danny's level. "Did you hear that, Danny? Your dad doesn't think I can do it. How about you? Do you think I can?"

Danny hesitated, apparently unwilling to let his hopes rise too high, but, in the end, youthful optimism won out, and he gave her a curt, encouraging nod.

"All right, then." She approached the game operator, a clean-cut youth she didn't recognize, and pointed out the prize Danny coveted. "What does it take to win that one?"

"You got to sink three balls in a row, miss."

It was a tall order, but Bonnie determined to give it her best effort. She paid for her three balls, and took her place at the proper distance. She gave the first ball a few bounces, to steady her nerves, and then, with great deliberation, took aim and threw. The ball carved a graceful arc through the air and fell cleanly through the hoop, all net. Behind her, the small crowd that had gathered broke into applause and appreciative whistles. Bonnie grinned back over her shoulder at Dr. Baer, who inclined his head wryly in congratulations.

Her next shots were unsuccessful, though. After rolling around the rim, the second ball dropped to one side, and the third, tossed with too much touch, didn't even hit the basket. Bonnie had to be satisfied with a small stuffed bear.

"Try again, miss," the operator said. "If you sink two out of three, I'll take the little one back in trade."

"What if I give this prize to my friend here?" She indicated Dr. Baer. "Is the offer still good?"

The young man thought it over. "I guess so. Yeah."

Bonnie cut her eyes to Dr. Baer in challenge. "So, I've got you one third of the way. What do you say now? Are you game?"

"Two out of three?" He considered her narrowly. "Okay," he said at last. "It's a go." He handed over his money, and, taking up his spot, turned the ball over in his hands a few times, getting the feel of it. The first ball hit the hoop's far rim and balanced there a moment before tipping forward into the basket, causing by-standers to erupt in hoots and cheers. The second ball missed, however, caroming off the backboard and eliciting a general groan of disappointment. Bonnie held her breath as Dr. Baer bounced his last ball a few times before taking it in hand, and, after a moment's concentration, letting it fly. It fell toward the basket, rattled back and forth between the rims, and then, without further ceremony, dropped like a stone through the net. The crowd roared its approval as Danny ran joyfully to his father and threw his arms around his legs.

Bonnie stepped up to congratulate him as well. "You dark horse!" she said, mock-accusingly. "You're no basketball novice!"

His grin was unapologetic. "I never said I was."

Bonnie had to acquit him on that head. "Just how much basketball have you played?"

"Four years of high school, JV as a college freshman, and pick-up games fairly frequently at the gym."

Bonnie gaped at him. "You should have sunk all three!"

Charmander, as the game operator insisted on calling the plush toy prize, proved to be nearly child-size, and too unwieldy for Danny to tote on his own. When, finally, the last of his energy draining away, Danny himself had to be carried piggyback, it fell to Bonnie to lug the awkward animal. "You know, Danny," Bonnie said, as they drew near the exit, "I have a story idea for that book of ours. How about this…

"A boy goes to the carnival with his father, and just as they're leaving, he hears this kind of rumbling voice calling, 'Psst. You! Boy!' He looks all around to see where the sound is coming from, and he sees a small dinosaur hanging from the awning of a game stall. 'Yes, you,' the dinosaur says, when he's caught the boy's attention. 'Take me home with you. Win me, win me!' The boy has always wanted a real, live dinosaur, so of course he asks his father to play the game for him, but his father's something of a wet blanket…"

Dr. Baer cleared his throat noisily.

"… which means a serious sort of a person, so the boy has to do a bit of convincing. Eventually, though, the father gives in, he wins the prize, and the boy gets to take the dinosaur home.

"Now, the strange thing about this dinosaur is that it will only talk or move for the boy. Whenever anybody else is around, it pretends to be a stuffed toy, and no one will believe the boy when he tells them the dinosaur is real. Still, the two of them have lots of fun adventures together. We could call the boy 'Charlie' and the dinosaur 'Charmander.' What do you think?"

"You'd do better to call the boy 'Calvin' and the dinosaur 'Hobbes'," Dr. Baer said before Danny could give his opinion.

Bonnie looked at him blankly. "Calvin and Hobbes," she repeated. "Why would we do that?"

"Do you know who they are?"

"Of course: Calvin was a French theologian, and Hobbes, an English philosopher."

He shook his head sharply. "Not those two. The _other_ Calvin and Hobbes."

Bonnie shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know what you mean." She was on the point of asking for an explanation when she was brought up short by the sound of someone calling her name. Looking forward, she saw Trev striding away from the gate toward them, one arm waving above his head. His face lit with a smile when their eyes met, though his pleasure dimmed visibly when he recognized her companions.

"Hey!" he said, coming quickly up beside her. He threw an arm around her waist, and, leaning in, would have stolen a kiss, but for the large stuffed toy inconveniently in the way. He settled for a peck on the cheek.

Bonnie was suddenly conscious that she hadn't been keeping very good track of time. "I hope you haven't been waiting long," she said, in some concern.

"Not to worry. I just got here. Baer," he said evenly, nodding in greeting. He waved hello to Danny, who was still riding his father's back. "Got your hands full there, I see."

As Dr. Baer did nothing more than return Trev's nod, Bonnie jumped in with, "Danny's had a very busy afternoon, and is all tuckered out. They're just on their way home."

"Oh. Well, by all means, don't let us keep you." Trev helped himself to one of Charmander's stubby forelimbs and, with no more by-your-leave than a gentle tug, extricated it from Bonnie's clasp. "No offense," he said, extending the toy to Dr. Baer. "You can understand that Bonnie's not going to want to carry this around with her for the rest of the night."

Dr. Baer lowered Danny carefully to the ground, and accepted the overstuffed dragon from Trev's hand. "I understand completely," he said, his bland tone belied by a poorly suppressed twitch of his lips. "After all, it's not like Bonnie can't win herself another prize just as large any time she wants."

Trev frowned, and looked from Baer to Bonnie uncertainly. "Does he mean…? Is he saying _you_ won that?"

Bonnie flinched at Trev's discomfiture. "It was a joint effort. The prize is Danny's."

"Oh, I get it!" Trev ran his hand back over his head, and rubbed the nape of his neck. "Sorry! My mistake!"

"Not at all," Baer assured him. "Perfectly natural under the circumstances."

They said their good-byes. Trev and Bonnie stood for a moment watching the Baers pass through the exit and into the parking lot. Trev shook his head moodily. "That man does not improve on acquaintance."

As Bonnie was not entirely of this opinion, she thought it best to change the subject. She threaded her arm through Trev's, and steered him back toward the bright lights and cacophony of the carnival. "You know," she said, "I've been earth-bound all day, and right now, I have a hankering to visit the top of the world. What do you say to a ride on the ferris wheel?" She leaned in, and murmured confidentially, "The ride operator's an old friend of mine."

Trev laughed, and his smile shone through again, like sunshine after clouds. "Sounds great."


	24. Chapter 24: Pentimento

24\. Pentimento

Bonnie returned to work the following Monday in excellent spirits, buoyed by the fun time she'd personally enjoyed at the carnival and by the event's resounding success. While the tally for the funds raised was, as yet, preliminary, Christine had felt justified the previous evening in breaking out a bottle of champagne in celebration of what she fully expected would prove, in the final analysis, the most financially-rewarding carnival in family history. The event had received wide media coverage as well, with all reports being extremely positive. As a result, the Foundation had come in for a large share of good publicity and public recognition. Bonnie had rarely seen her mother more happy.

Bonnie did not think her own mood could possibly improve, but then she crossed the threshold into the workroom and saw that her painting, _La Coupe d'amour,_ had at long last been released from the Imaging Lab and was waiting at her work station, securely clamped to an easel. She crossed the intervening distance in a rather undignified rush, impatient for her first look at the actual, physical object that would be her responsibility for the next few months. It did not disappoint: even in its age-darkened and dirty state, the picture of the young lovers speeding ardently toward the frothy promise of first love charmed and captivated. The fountain's attendants, little cupids with chubby bodies and baby faces, were absolutely darling, too; Bonnie knew she would not soon tire of uncovering the creamy whites and rosy tints of their flesh.

Eventually, she dragged her eyes away from the image, and checked the painting's sides and back. The frame had been removed, revealing the far-cleaner edges of the canvas and, Bonnie was glad to see, a slim line of paint that had retained much of the original color. She would be able to harvest tiny flakes from these sections for chemical analysis. The back of the painting was covered in a fine grit, and would need careful cleaning, but there was, thankfully, no obvious damage to the fabric or the wooden stretchers. Structurally, the painting appeared to have fared very well.

Visual inspection was an important first step, but Bonnie had sufficient experience to know that numerous flaws might yet show up on the x-radiographs. She turned to the Imaging Lab Directory on her computer, and quickly located the newly-created file on _La Coupe d'amour_. At the tap of a key, a rectangle entirely in grayscale filled her screen, presenting a flattened view of the painting's various layers, from the surface paint, through the underdrawing and the ground all the way to the weave of the canvas and the wood grain of the stretchers. There was such a jumble of lines and shapes, it took a long moment for Bonnie to orient herself, and when she did, she couldn't quite believe her eyes. She zoomed in on the center for a closer look. "Oh, my God!" she breathed out. She reached back blindly for her rolling chair, and, finding it, drew it forward and dropped into it before her knees could quite give out.

At the commotion, Gabby Franklin spared a glance up from tiny rent she was repairing. "What is it? Something wrong?"

Bonnie was too overcome by her discovery to do more than wave wordlessly at the computer screen, and beckon Gabby urgently over. Gabby responded at once, setting her tools down and rounding the long table between them to come up behind Bonnie's shoulder. She peered at the screen obligingly, but then, shook her head, at sea. "What am I looking at?"

"This is the x-radiograph of the painting on the easel," Bonnie explained. She zoomed out again so Gabby could more readily make out the correspondences between the two images. "Here's the fountain with the putti, the forest background, and the central figures. See?"

Gabby looked from the screen to the painting and back again, comparing the one against the other. "All right. I'm with you so far."

"Now, focus on the painting, on the man and woman's faces. They're both in profile, right?"

Gabby nodded. "Plain as can be."

"Okay. Now, look at this." Once again, Bonnie zoomed in on the x-radiograph's center. She leaned back in her chair, offering Gabby a clearer view, and, breathless with anticipation, watched for the more experienced woman's reaction. Gabby scowled at first in concentration, but then, comprehension dawning, her eyes widened in astonishment, and her jaw went slack. Bonnie was nearly weak with nervous relief. "I'm not hallucinating, then?"

"No! Holy cow, Bonnie!" For once, Gabby was awed almost speechless. "That's one hell of a pentimento!"

Bonnie could not have agreed more. The underdrawing revealed by x-radiography showed a marked departure from the surface painting. In the artist's original composition, the man's face had _not_ been turned toward the fountain at all, but back toward his companion, and the highlights on his cheeks and the dark curve of his mouth suggested a joyful, loving expression quite at odds with the avid, steely look he wore in the final version. The cup's placement, too, had been reworked: whereas in the finished painting, the putti appeared to be favoring the man, in the underdrawing, the cup was being offered to the woman, with the man looking on with every indication of complacence. The overall impression was not of two people running side by side in a quasi-competitive sprint, but rather of the man acting as the woman's escort, gladly conceding her the first cupful of elixir in the firm expectation that he would have his share, perhaps from his ladylove's own hands. "This is no minor alteration, Gabby. It changes the painting's meaning."

"I see that, yes," Gabby concurred, thoughtful. "It's wonderful how you get a really clear sense of the artist's process: his original idea, subsequent dissatisfaction, leading to that massive correction. It'd be fascinating to know the reason behind that complete turnabout. As you say, the final story's drastically different."

"Hold that thought, Gabby." Bonnie rolled her chair back and pushed herself up and out. "Dr. Baer has to see this!"

She was practically breathless from her mad dash when she reached his office. The door standing open, she could see Dr. Baer writing at his desk, and announced herself with a sharp rap on the jamb. For an instant, she thought he brightened at the sight of her, but the expression was so fleeting, she could not be sure. "Dr. Baer! _La Coupe d'amour_ 's x-radiographs! You'll never believe…! There's a pentimento!"

He motioned her in, his regard one of benign amusement. "Such animation, Miss Booth-Hodgins! For that much excitement, you must have found an overpainted signature at least."

Bonnie was too hepped up to mind the mockery. "As good as!"

He raised skeptical eyebrows at this, but turned to his computer and pulled up the image file. What he eventually made out stunned all the humor out of him. "Good God," he said, when she'd drawn his attention to the greatly revised center. "You weren't kidding!" He zoomed in on the couple, and examined the male figure minutely. "The turn of the head and shoulders, the expression on the face, the placement of the cup…" He panned down to their lower bodies. "And look here: his leg's differently posed, too."

Bonnie leaned in, the better to follow the line Dr. Baer traced with his finger. "You're right. I missed that."

"It's a very clumsy-looking position. Improbable, in fact. The correction is definitely more graceful."

Bonnie's mind had been moving along a different track altogether. She'd remembered Doucette's contention that Antoine Lebrun had undergone a significant personal change around the time of _La Coupe d'amour_ 's unveiling: from a painter of sentimental, homey scenes, he had transformed into the cynical chronicler of dalliance, lechery and wantonness. How had her grandfather explained it? _That Frenchman got his heart broken somewhere along the line, and wound up a bitter, angry guy._ The evidence before her seemed to support Grandpa B's assessment quite neatly: a heart-whole Lebrun, enraptured by a first, deep love, had sketched out the underdrawing, and a love-soured, disillusioned Lebrun had revised and finished the painting. The watershed event Doucette had postulated must have occurred during the creation of _La Coupe d'amour_ , and there was little doubt some woman was behind it.

For the moment, she limited herself to saying, "I see what you mean about the leg, but how do you account for the change in the face? He could have kept the happy face even in profile, but he chose to replace it with an angry look."

"Angry?" Dr. Baer echoed, puzzled.

"That's how it looks to me, how it looked even when I saw the painting hanging in the Louvre, though it's more obvious here. The lowered brow, the glaring eye, the downturned mouth — don't you see it? They're supposed to be lovers, but I've always thought they looked more like rivals, trying to beat each other to the fountain."

"I don't think 'angry' is the right word. Serious, certainly, intent, even determined, but angry? I don't agree. It's not impossible, given the other neoclassical elements, that a subtle reference to Venus and Mars was intended. That would explain his martial air and her radiant beauty."

"I suppose," Bonnie allowed. She continued to find her own theory more compelling, however, and resolved to delve more deeply into the matter. She was already considering enlisting Michel Doucette's help in the investigation when Dr. Baer's voice broke into her thoughts.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

As her mind had been wandering elsewhere, Bonnie took a second to hope that the question was purely rhetorical, but Dr. Baer was watching her, an expectant look in his eye. She was reminded, all too vividly, of past oral exams. Fortunately, a likely answer came to her. "It means, at the very least, that our painting was not produced for the tourist trade, as we suspected at first. A simple copy of an acknowledged masterpiece would show a uniform composition through all the layers."

Dr. Baer nodded approval. "And, at most?"

Bonnie breathed in deeply; she could almost not believe, herself, what she about to propose. "At most, the family history is true: it's a genuine Lebrun."

Their eyes met in a moment of shared wonder and incredulity. Dr. Baer laughed shortly, and shook his head in patent disbelief. "I can't get my head around it. A second _Coupe d'amour_ , or maybe even the first! It could easily be the earlier version." He gestured to the computer screen. "This pentimento's not proof positive, by any means, but it's the beginning of a solid case. Which means, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to notify Dr. Cummings."

Bonnie frowned. What was there to apprehend in sharing their extraordinary find with their department head? "But… it's good news, isn't it?"

"For the Jeff, absolutely. The Institute may well have hit the jackpot. But, for you, Bonnie…" He winced in sympathy. "You can appreciate they're not going to trust an intern, no matter how promising, to take lead on conserving so valuable a painting."

"Oh!" She sank down onto the nearest chair, felled by disappointment. She knew, rationally, that she ought to have anticipated such a turn of events, but she'd been too wrapped up in the initial excitement to foresee the cost to herself. "Of course. That makes sense."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. I know you've already invested a lot of yourself in this project. If you want, I can assign you another painting, or I can lobby for you to have some role on whatever team is put together to treat _La Coupe d'amour._ It might only be research, or documentation, or it could be more. It all depends of who's in charge."

Bonnie was too powerfully drawn to the mystery at the heart of _La Coupe d'amour_ to simply let it go. "I'd like to keep working on Lebrun, if at all possible. It doesn't matter in what capacity."

"All right, then. Good. I'll see what Dr. Cummings has to say about it, and get back to you as soon as possible. In the interim, I don't see any harm in getting the canvas back cleaned."

Bonnie got to her feet, and attempted a smile. "I'll take care of it." And then, she promised herself, as time allowed, she would go digging into the identity of the Jezebel who had ruined Antoine Lebrun's life.


	25. Chapter 25: Interview

25\. Interview

Booth waved his spoon at the sprinkle-covered heaps of ice cream in Bonnie's bowl. "You really _are_ feeling down."

Bonnie dug glumly into her extra-large serving, and excavated a huge spoonful. "The consolations of Heavenly Hash." She popped the mound into her mouth, and swallowed cold comfort. "Still, it wasn't a complete loss. At least, the pentimento backs up your theory, Gramps. Not," she hastened to add, "that I ever doubted you."

"But you didn't feel strongly enough about it to share the theory with what's-his-name."

"Dr. Baer," Bonnie supplied. "No, it's only speculation at this point, and, well, given his personal history, it'd be pretty tactless to bring up an unhappy love affair just on a hunch."

"On account of the short marriage and nasty divorce." Booth nodded, impressed. "Full points for sensitivity, Bonbon."

"I try." For a time, they savored their desserts in companionable silence, and then Bonnie said, "Thing is, I really don't know how to go on from here. You're an experienced investigator, Gramps. Any suggestions as to where I should start?"

He gave the question serious consideration. "You say the male figure that was painted-over is looking at the female adoringly?"

"That's right."

"And you're thinking the painter is expressing his own personal feelings on the canvas, so… That would make the male figure a stand-in for him, and, by extension, the female figure the woman he loved."

"His model!" Bonnie cried out, following her grandfather's logic. "Gramps, that's brilliant! There's a long history of artists using their lovers, mistresses, even wives as their models." She thought of the many nude portraits of Madame Vincent scattered the world over. As a hypothesis, her grandfather's deduction had obvious merit, but attempting to put a name to that face was a daunting proposition. "It'll be quite a challenge identifying her, though."

"If it were me, I'd start by looking back over his earlier paintings, see if that profile, or something resembling it, appears in any of them. If you find her in other pictures, that could open up a lead."

Bonnie regarded her grandfather with sincere admiration. "You've still got it, Gramps! Sharp as a tack! I'll check out the Institute archives first chance I get."

The next morning, she had set aside her cleaning sponge and was about to take her coffee break down in the departmental library when she was summoned to a meeting; not, as she had every reason to expect, with Dr. Baer but with none other than Dr. Cummings himself. Her stomach suddenly aflutter with a host of butterflies, she made her way up to the administrative floor of the building, wondering with each step if Dr. Cummings was planning to inform her of his decision regarding _La Coupe d'amour_ himself, and if his wanting to do so, personally and in private, was a good sign or bad. She found the heavy wooden door along the silent corridor without difficulty, and, steeling herself, rapped firmly three times.

"Come in!"

Dr. Cummings stood at her entrance and smiled with such cordiality that Bonnie immediately felt more at ease. Of somewhat less than average height, slight of build, with a full head of silver-gray hair, and twinkling ultramarine eyes, Dr. Cummings was not so much handsome in looks as appealing. From his infrequent visits to the workroom, Bonnie knew him as a dapper man, always impeccably groomed, fresh-scented, and nattily dressed in suit coat, pocket square and tie. His office, with its cherrywood paneling, substantial desk, deep leather armchairs and tastefully scattered objets d'art, was a perfect reflection of his neat, patrician style. "Miss Booth-Hodgins." He gestured her to a chair, and resumed his own. "That's quite the mouthful of a last name. Would you mind if I called you Bonnie?"

Bonnie answered smile for smile. "Not at all, sir. I'd prefer it." She smoothed her lab coat behind her knees, and settled on the edge of her seat. Hands folded in her lap, she waited respectfully for Dr. Cummings to broach the reason for his summons, but he merely sat considering her, a somewhat intent, if benign, expression on his face. Bonnie was beginning to feel the first stirrings of alarm when he started, as if suddenly conscious of staring. "I do apologize," he said, with charming contrition. "It only occurred to me, just now, how much you resemble your grandmother. Not, of course, as she looked when I knew her, but as she appeared in the dust jacket photos of her early novels."

"You knew my grandmother?" As Bonnie had pegged Dr. Cummings' age as early fifties, she was forced to conclude that the man was either extremely well-preserved or had been something of a wunderkind, not an unusual trait among Jeffersonian employees.

Dr. Cummings inclined his head. "I had the pleasure of working a case with Dr. Brennan, her last case, I believe. It was my first year here at the Jeff. I was fresh out of grad school, and low man on the conservation department totem pole. So, when the forensics lab caught the case of a murdered art dealer who traded in high-end forgeries, my services were volunteered to help with the examination of the victim's remaining inventory. I'd like to say my contributions were of critical importance in bringing the killer to justice, but, sadly, that would be inaccurate. Still, it was an unforgettable experience, and a memory I treasure. Your grandmother was a remarkable woman."

"Yes, she was." Bonnie managed a small smile in gratitude for the sympathy in Dr. Cummings' kind eyes. She found consolation, too, in the reminder that Grammy T had touched uncounted lives, and was widely remembered with respect and veneration. That was an immortality of sorts.

"But enough of the Dark Ages!" Dr. Cummings sat forward, his manner skewing all at once more bluff and businesslike. "I understand we're on the cusp of a very exciting next few months. Always granted, of course, that the Lebrun painting proves authentic, which, I tend to agree, given the discovery of the pentimento, seems likely. But not conclusive by any means! It's truly amazing the lengths some forgers will go to bamboozle clients. I've known museum curators, experts in their fields, who've been taken in. The last thing we want here at the Jeff is to wind up with egg on our faces, so we're going to proceed, for now, with extreme caution and extreme secrecy. If the chemical analysis of the paint doesn't raise any red flags, we'll call in the Lebrun scholars, but until then, we don't want any word of our suspicions getting out."

As he paused and fixed Bonnie with a steady look, she felt compelled to say, "Yes, sir. I understand."

"You haven't mentioned the find to anyone?"

"My grandfather Booth knows, but he won't tell anyone." Once she asked him not to.

Dr. Cummings nodded, satisfied. "I believe we can trust Mr. Booth's discretion. Now, going forward… I will be collaborating with Baer on the plan for the painting's treatment, and he will have charge of executing that plan in any way he deems fit. I would, personally, prefer that he undertake all aspects of the treatment himself, but he appears to believe there are numerous tasks that could be entrusted to less experienced hands, always, of course, under the closest supervision.

"Take, for example, the next order of business: preparing paint samples for chemical analysis. I've been assured that chips can be taken from the edges of the canvas with little risk of damage to the painting. Preparing the resin medium, embedding the samples, slicing the cross-sections — none of that involves the painting in any way, and could certainly be delegated to an intern.

"All this is to say, Bonnie, that Baer has argued, persuasively I may add, that you should be allowed to continue to work on the painting, as his assistant, if you will. He has a very high opinion of your skills, and is confident you'll be a valuable addition to the team."

In her astonishment, Bonnie blurted out, "He said that? Dr. Baer? About me?" She felt her cheeks redden at this unprofessional outburst, and pursed her lips, too late.

Dr. Cummings regarded her wryly, a glint of humor in his eyes. "That comes as a surprise, does it?" He shook his head, rueful and resigned. "That's Baer, all right: stingy with praise to your face, but complimentary, if you deserve it, behind your back. Not the best management style, I tell him, but what can you do? Old dog and all that. Anyway, take it from me, he spoke of you in glowing terms."

Bonnie tried to keep her spreading grin in check, but she suspected she was less than entirely successful. "That's very good to know, sir. Thank you."

"Not at all, not at all. So…" He drew the vowel out, and sat still a long moment, his gaze on her in an assessing sort of way. Finally, he gave a curt nod, and, slapping his hands palm down on the desk top, said, "Right, then. Very good. You'll report to Baer as usual, and he will make all decisions as to what aspects of the treatment you're equipped to handle." He rose to his feet, and buttoned himself back into his suit coat. "I hope you appreciate, Bonnie, that very few interns are afforded an opportunity such as this. We're reposing a great deal of trust in you."

Bonnie stood in her turn, and faced him across the desk. "I'm very grateful, sir, truly. I promise you won't have any cause to regret your decision."

He smiled at such assurance, and extended a hand for her to shake. "You know, Bonnie," he said, warmly, "I don't believe I will."

Bonnie's heart was so light, her spirits so high, she might easily have been walking on air as flooring on her return to the workroom. She did not, after all, have to give up her work on _La Coupe d'amour_ , and she might yet have a fairly large role to play in its treatment! It would all depend on Dr. Baer, who, it was abundantly clear, had already gone to bat for her and secured her the opportunity. When she thought back to their first meeting and her subsequent determination to make him eat crow for doubting her, she could scarcely credit the change four months could bring. He had so far overcome his initial prejudice as to be firmly in her corner now, and, as for herself, she took not the least vindictive pleasure in having proved her abilities. She felt only satisfaction in having earned his approval, and gratitude for his having taken her side.

On her way down the hall, she noticed his door standing open, and could not resist sharing the news. He was working at his desk, his eyes trained on his computer screen with an occasional glance down to the notes he was jotting on a pad. He caught the movement of her approach before she could announce herself. "Miss Booth-Hodgins," he said neutrally, sparing only a brief look in her direction. "What can I do for you?"

Bonnie ventured over the threshold. "I've just had a meeting with Dr. Cummings."

"I see." He entered what appeared to be numbers in a column, and returned his gaze to the display. "How did the interview go?"

"Interview?" She had thought it a debriefing, but, in retrospect, she could see that Dr. Cummings had been evaluating her. "It went well. I'm to keep working on _La Coupe d'amour_ , as your assistant."

"That's settled, then. Good." His eyes moved back and forth over the screen, his features ghostly pale in the bright light from the monitor. He bent down to his pad again, scrawled a few more lines, and then raising his head, resumed his reading. "Was there something else?"

"Yes." Bonnie decided she would not let Dr. Baer's manner deter her. "I want to thank you for vouching for me with Dr. Cummings. He made it plain you swayed him in my favor with the positive things you said about me."

He set down his pen, and, turning toward her, studied her face carefully. "I don't know exactly what Dr. Cummings told you about our conversation," he began, cooly, "but, as to what I said about you, I recommend you take anything he repeated with a grain of salt. I may have exaggerated some of your strong points. That's fairly standard practice when you're making a case for someone."

Bonnie met and held his unwavering gaze. "You… exaggerated my strong points," she repeated, with barely-veiled skepticism.

"I believe that's what I said." He held her eye stubbornly a moment longer, but then his gaze faltered, and he looked away. Grabbing up his pen, he swiveled back to his screen, grumbling, "Don't you have some cleaning to do?"

She did not allow her smile to break until she was well out the door. _Stingy with praise to your face, complimentary behind your back._ Yes, indeed. Dr. Baer, she thought happily, I am on to you.


	26. Chapter 26: Vanna

26\. Vanna

"You're sure you won't change your mind?"

Bonnie hesitated. She hated to disappoint Trev, but the truth was she simply did not feel comfortable spending the night before the Senator's birthday bash at the lake house. Saturday was reserved for immediate family, and since Bonnie had declined Trev's proposal and was still far from certain she would ever agree to marry him, she felt she could not, in good conscience, accept his invitation. "Your parents will read too much into my being there," she had already explained to him. "It wouldn't be right." He had tried to talk her round, but she had held her firm. "I'm sure," she told him now. "I'll come up Sunday morning."

He had the good grace not to argue. "You're planning to take the SteerE?"

"Yes," she drawled, piqued by so obvious a question. "Why do you ask?"

"You remember Vanna Greeley? One of Dad's campaign staffers? I happened to mention you'd be driving up by yourself, and she suggested you could make the trip together. You live right along her route to Lake Anna, so she wouldn't have to go much out of her way to pick you up, and as she pointed out, it would be a waste to take two cars when you could easily car pool. She said she'd enjoy the company. What do you think?"

Bonnie thought traveling two hours with Vanna was bound to be much more entertaining than perusing the latest issue of _The Journal of the American Institute for Conservation_ , and lost no time taking down her contact information. "I guess this'll make us even," Bonnie said, after she and Vanna had worked out all the necessary details.

"Come again?"

"This is the favor you owe me, right? For helping you with the Senator's gift."

"Oh, that!" Vanna laughed, a sweet, chiming sound. "Not at all. The way I see it, I'm actually deeper in your debt. I was dreading showing up at the party all on my lonesome."

Bonnie had just closed the front door behind her, and was enjoying the warmth and cloudless sky of the late May morning when Vanna's SteerE, a slightly older model than Bonnie's own, emerged from the shade of the tree-lined drive and, rounding the curve, slowed to a stop at the bottom of the flagstone walkway. The gull-wing doors rose silently, and Vanna stepped out from the near side, her face sunny as the day. "Good morning," she called, as Bonnie closed the distance between them. "Can you believe this weather?"

"Gorgeous," Bonnie agreed. The same might have been said with equal justice of Vanna's appearance. Her navy-and-white seersucker blazer worn over a white-on-white embroidered cotton top struck the perfect balance between dressy and casual while the matching seersucker short-shorts and navy espadrille wedges showed her long, shapely legs to advantage. The sunlight gilded the loose waves of her flowing hair, and glinted off the slim gold chain and simple cross at her neck. "I love your outfit. You look great."

"Thank you for saying that," Vanna said, placing a hand over her heart. "You set my mind at ease. It took me just forever this morning to get dressed! I must have tried on all the clothes in my closet. My bedroom looks like it's been hit by a tornado!" She popped the trunk, and helped Bonnie store her oversized bag. "You look pretty as a picture, yourself. That's such a lovely dress, and the print! What're those, sailboats and sea birds? How apropos!"

They were soon on the highway, where, traffic volume being low on account of their early start, their SteerE was able to reach and maintain the maximum speed limit almost immediately. As the miles sped smoothly by, and the cityscapes of northern Virginia gave way to the more rural South, Bonnie discovered she had not been mistaken in Vanna. With little more than minimal prompting, Vanna kept up a steady stream of diverting conversation, replying in an open, friendly manner to questions about her life and family. They had, it turned out, many points in common: like Bonnie, Vanna was proud of her family, and bragged at length on her father, Roger, a venture capitalist with an uncanny ability to anticipate trends and invest early in the next big thing. Her mother, Samantha, was Vanna's inspiration and role model. Having guided and coached her daughter to the Miss Virginia Teen crown, Samantha had parlayed her experience and contacts into a business venture, The Pageant Academy, which offered support and training for young women engaged on the beauty queen path. Vanna had been one of her mother's first hires, and gave pointers on public speaking and deportment on a part-time basis.

"I'm the eldest of three, too," Vanna said, citing another similarity. "Although in my case, it's sisters, not brothers." She read the question flashed in Bonnie's look, and explained, "Trev mentioned it. Really, he talks about you all the time! You'd be amazed the things I know about you."

"Such as?"

"Well, let's see… You're about six months older than me… You graduated _summa cum laude_ from Princeton… You speak fluent French and have traveled the world over. What else? You're not only a talented artist, but a first-rate scientist, too. You work at the Jeffersonian, like your famous grandparents before you… And you are shamefully addicted to fashion."

Bonnie burst out laughing. "Trev never told you that!"

"No," Vanna admitted with a smile. "I worked that out on my own. I know a fellow sufferer when I see one. You know, I actually dreamed, growing up, of becoming a fashion designer, having my own label, dividing my time between New York and Paris."

"What happened?"

"Turns out making beautiful clothes isn't nearly as fun and glamorous as wearing them. I swear, my sewing machine was possessed by an evil spirit bent on breaking my will."

Bonnie chuckled at this fanciful explanation. "So, you abandoned the fashion world for politics? I don't see the connection."

"My love of fashion led me to compete for Miss Virginia Teen, and that's when I had my first taste of campaigning. Not for a candidate, no," she said quickly, once again anticipating Bonnie's reaction. "I was campaigning for myself, trying to win the title. It's remarkably similar to running for office, when you think about it. There's a lot of interacting with the public, making appearances, giving speeches, and always being ultra-conscious of projecting the right image, being graceful under pressure, and staying on message. And then, there's the platform that all pageant contestants are obliged to put together."

"A platform? Really? That does sound political."

"It's called a 'platform,' but it's really a social issue or a cause the contestant believes in and advocates for. In my case, I partnered up with Girls, Unlimited. You may have heard of it. It's an organization devoted to supporting girls' ambitions and helping them to build the self-confidence they need to achieve the goals they set themselves. I know from personal experience how important it is to have strong, capable women as mentors and role models, so their mission really resonated with me."

Bonnie thought of her own good fortune in having three outstanding women to inspire, love and support her. "That's work well worth doing."

"We accept donations in any amount," Vanna said, a roguish gleam in her eye. "The point is, I really enjoyed stumping for my cause, and I discovered I had a real aptitude for it, too. I love to talk — whoever'd guess! — and l love the challenge of talking people round to my way of thinking. Plus, I don't discourage at all easily. That, and a real belief in what you're advocating, of course, is all you really need for campaign success."

Bonnie could well imagine that few people could resist Vanna when she set to work on them. "It was a lucky day for Girls, Unlimited when you chose them for your platform."

"Aren't you sweet to say so! But really, I've benefitted just as much as the organization, trust me. It's just so rewarding having a worthwhile purpose in life, the sense of doing your part, however small, to bring about positive change. I really missed that feeling when I stopped competing. Lucky for me, my college roommate roped me into volunteering for Congressman Walker's re-election campaign, and that's all it took. I found that same sense of purpose, the camaraderie of a team pulling together toward a common goal, the excitement of the contest, the working to win. I was back in my element, and totally hooked!"

Bonnie shook her head in wonder. "You can't really enjoy canvassing door-to-door, and making hundreds of fundraising phone calls!"

"It's crazy, I know, but I do! Oh, and I just heard yesterday I've been hired on to Senator Wyndham-Pryce's campaign staff! It scarcely pays anything at all, of course, but it means I'll be able to take a leave of absence from my job at the Pageant Academy and devote myself full time to the campaign!"

Bonnie could not enter into Vanna's elation, but congratulated her sincerely nonetheless. Watching Vanna as she enumerated the delights inherent in supporting her candidate, Bonnie was reminded how very pleasant it could be spending time with a woman her own age, and how long it had been since she'd had a close female friend. She had completely lost touch with her high school girlfriends, and her college roommates were living in other parts of the country and pursuing demanding careers of their own. Gabby Franklin was always willing to grab some lunch or a drink after work, but she was older, and apart from their work, they shared few interests. She and her cousin-in-law Adele would sometimes have a girls' day out, but this was more of a treat than a frequent occurrence. As for Trev's sister, Bonnie had made friendly overtures over the years, but for whatever reason, Emma's reception had always been tepid at best. Now, here was Vanna, so easy and outgoing, so lively a companion that Bonnie realized what she'd been missing. She found herself wondering if Vanna would be amenable to their becoming better acquainted.

Evidently, Vanna had have been thinking along similar lines, because she was saying, "You should really come with us next time. It was such a blast! Gus and I lost a bundle to the one-armed bandits, but Charlie played blackjack, and came away a big winner."

"Charlie and Gus," Bonnie repeated, in a bantering tone. "Would one or the other of these gentlemen be the matrimonial prospect you mentioned last time we talked?"

Vanna looked at her blankly for a moment, and then burst out in a merry peal. "Sorry," she said, noting Bonnie's bemusement. "I don't mean to laugh, only you see, Charlie and Gus are my sisters!"

Bonnie groaned. "Charlotte and Augusta! Of course."

"As for Mr. Might-be-right, let's just say I'm on his radar now, if just barely. In other news, he may have some serious competition! There was this hunk of a man at the blackjack tables last night, a real high roller with the devil's own luck. He'd attracted a crowd, so we went over to see what the commotion was about. The man just couldn't seem to lose! Charlie fell in lust at first sight, and asked around about him. Turns out, he's well-known in gambling circles: Eddie Booth. Any relation of yours?"

Bonnie's ears pricked up at the name. Eddie had been playing least-in-sight for the last several weeks, and she had no idea what he'd been up to. "He's my cousin," she admitted.

"I was so hoping you'd say that! I may just have to ask you for an introduction, if not for myself, then for Charlie. Unless, of course, he's already spoken for? There was a tall, blond woman right beside him all night long, practically hanging on his arm."

Bonnie's spirits sank a little. "Was she, maybe, wearing too much make-up, and showing a lot of skin?"

Vanna hesitated. "Well… I don't like to speak ill of the absent, but yes, you could say that."

Valeria Dunbar… If Bonnie's suspicions were not precisely confirmed, neither were they allayed. She did not know what answer to give to Vanna's question, so it was just as well that at that moment the SteerE began to decelerate noticeably, and in a suave baritone, it announced, "In five hundred feet, you will arrive at your destination. Prepare for disembarkation."


	27. Chapter 27: Party

27\. Party

The Wyndham-Pryce lake house was not far off the road, but it was screened from ready view by a tall stand of mixed maples and oaks, and had it not been for two squat fieldstone pillars topped by brass ducks rising in flight, the entrance to the property could easily have been missed. The SteerE plunged into the small copse, and following a short incline, emerged onto a wide paved lot already occupied by a variety of vehicles. As usual, Bonnie had the fanciful notion that the two-story house, imposing in its size but plain in aspect, had its back turned to visitors arriving by car; like its neighbors along the Lake Anna shoreline, it had been designed to draw the eye and impress when seen from the water, and as a result, it appeared, when approached from the parking area, entirely devoid of architectural interest or style. A perfunctory effort had been made to break up the long stretches of ochre-colored clapboards with the occasional decoration, and a pair of potted evergreens had been positioned by way of welcome on either side of the rear entrance.

Trev had, apparently, been watching for them, for he was already stepping out of the house and holding the screen door open when Bonnie and Vanna turned from collecting their bags from the trunk. He was looking unusually laid-back and chipper in his untucked linen shirt, patchwork madras Bermudas and weathered topsiders. "Ladies," he said, acknowledging Vanna with cordial nod, and leaning in to greet Bonnie with a prolonged kiss. "Good journey, I hope? Come on through. Most everyone's out on the lawn, but there're people up on the deck, too. Let's get your gear stowed away, and then, we'll see about getting you something to drink. You'll be glad to know, Bonnie, Mom's mixing up her famous white sangria."

They preceded him into the family room, deserted for the moment, although there was a selection of leather armchairs and sofas invitingly arranged to face an enormous flat vid-screen that took up much of the opposite wall. Among these modern furnishings were ranged a number of vintage pieces, spindle-legged side tables and small finely-crafted cabinets that ought to have looked out of place, but managed instead to lend character and charm to the space. Bonnie smiled to see the familiar prints of beach scenes, paintings of fish and water fowl, and wall hangings of life preservers and fishing net that everywhere proclaimed this to be a vacation home, dedicated to leisure pursuits, refreshment and relaxation. The patio doors framed a limited view of the shaded sandstone terrace and beyond that, the long slope of grass that led down to the lake, steel-blue at this hour and placid under the cloudless sky. Bonnie heard the murmur of voices and the creak of a porch swing wafting in from outside, and the faint clatter of crockery and flatware drifting down from above. "Where's the Senator?" she asked, as she and Vanna followed Trev up the stairs.

"Out on the lake with Emma. They took one of the canoes. They'll be back soon." He motioned them to precede him into the first room that opened off the upper corridor. "You can leave your things in here."

Vanna stepped into the bright, airy bedroom and immediately crossed to the double-wide french doors. "Oh, what a view!" she breathed out in admiration.

Bonnie added her bag to the jumble of possessions heaped on the queen-sized bed, and joined Vanna by the window. From this greater height, more of the long, narrow lake and some of the sprawling residences on the far shore could be seen, as well as, immediately below, the plank boardwalk at the base of the hill, and the double-slip boat house and dock. At the bottom of the lawn, on a relatively flat piece of land, a group of young people were struggling to set up a volleyball net.

Coming up behind them, Trev said, "The bathroom's just across the hall, if you want to freshen up."

After a quick inquiring glance at Bonnie, Vanna excused herself gratefully. She had no sooner vanished into the bathroom than Trev took advantage to draw Bonnie into his arms, and clasp her tightly to him. "I missed you last night. All I had for company as I lay awake staring at the ceiling was happy memories of you and me in this room." She could feel the lift of his cheek against her temple, the tickle of his low laugh against her ear. "There was one memory in particular…"

Bonnie shut her eyes tight, turned her face into his neck, and breathed in his familiar scent. She could have told him, truthfully, that she, too, had had trouble sleeping, but she couldn't then have told him why. He wouldn't have wanted to hear she'd been stewing over how unsettling she had found the last two weeks working in close proximity to Dr. Baer, how his leaning over her as she tried to concentrate on excising paint samples no larger than the head of a pin had set her fingers to trembling and her heart to thudding, or how unnerving it had been to have him standing only a hair's breadth away scrutinizing the canvas' edge through a microscope as she plied her scalpel. She would have liked to dismiss her awful self-consciousness as the blameless anxiety anyone would feel treating so valuable a painting, but she knew in her heart it was more than professional jitters. Much as she wished it otherwise, she was uncomfortably aware of Dr. Baer, not only as her supervisor but as a man, and could only pray she would grow inured to his nearness in time.

Trev loosened his hold and, leaning back, smiled down at her. "How 'bout we cut out early this afternoon, and spend the evening at my place? I haven't had you to myself in just about forever."

She did like the sound of that, but… "What about Vanna? She'll be expecting me to ride back with her."

"That's where you're wrong. She knows it was always my plan to see you home."

"She… You…" Bonnie's sudden suspicion was amply confirmed by the self-satisfied grin on Trev's face. "The two of you worked all this out between you!" she said, part flattered and part indignant. "You set me up!"

"What can I say?" Trev shrugged, unapologetic. "I'm reduced to drastic measures. So, how about it? Do I reap the rewards of my clever plotting?"

Before Bonnie could answer, the bathroom door lock released with a loud pop, and Vanna was crossing the hall to rejoin them. "We'll see," she said, mock-repressively.

Trev escorted them out of the bedroom wing, and over to the sitting area, where, ensconced in a deep-cushioned love seat, plates balanced on their laps and steaming mugs in hand, Freya's sisters sat enjoying a quiet conversation, while their husbands, seated along the opposite wall, were engaged in a more lively discussion. They broke off speaking to call out salutations, and Bonnie, well-acquainted with and fond of them all, slowed her step to exchange brief greetings before turning the corner into the galley, by which misnomer the family referred to the succession of areas, kitchen and bar, that took up one entire side of the house. They found Freya, resplendent in an aquamarine and gold tunic over tapered capri pants, behind the granite breakfast bar looking dubiously into the half-empty punch cup she held.

"Here they are, Mom," Trev said, interrupting her musing. "Your serving wenches."

"Hmm? Oh! Bonnie! Vanna!" Freya's brow cleared at the sight of them. "Perfect timing!"

Vanna rucked up her jacket sleeves, and stepped forward. "How can I help, Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce?"

"What? Oh, no, my dear! Trev was joking." Freya gestured to the woman in the starched white chef's coat working at the counter behind her. "Bridget and her staff have everything under control. No, I just wanted a second opinion on this punch…"

Trev obligingly ladled out small servings for each of them, and, it being determined that the punch was delicious as constituted, Freya allowed the bowl to be transferred to the buffet table, and set in pride of place among what remained of the breakfast offerings. These included several trays of glossy pastries, fruit-studded muffins, and plump bagels as well as one platter of sliced melon, grapes and strawberries and another of cold meats and cheeses. "Please, help yourselves, " Freya said, motioning to the array. "Lunch won't be served for several hours yet, and you must have had a very early breakfast. There's coffee and tea on the beverage cart, and juice, if you're not quite ready for punch, in the refrigerator."

Against the promptings of her better judgement, Bonnie succumbed to the lure of an iced blueberry danish, and Vanna, who confessed to having been in too much of a rush to do more than scarf down a yogurt before hitting the road, heaped her plate with a healthy assortment of fruits and cheeses. To avoid disturbing his relations a second time, Trev led them through the sliding door opposite the kitchen and onto the deck overlooking the side yard and a shallow inlet of the lake. Café tables and chairs had been set up along the railing, and at one of these, they discovered a noisy group of young people who, upon spotting Vanna, cried out in loud welcome. A great deal of chair-dragging and table-clearing later, the three newcomers were absorbed into their midst.

Shortly after, the Senator returned from his father-daughter canoe trip, looking agreeably tired and in good spirits. As genial host and birthday honoree, he was in constant demand, and so consistently engaged by supporters, friends and family, that Bonnie caught him alone only long enough to give him a hug and wish him many happy returns on the day. "We'll talk later," he promised, as Freya drew him away to greet arriving latecomers.

Between meeting new people and catching up with old acquaintances, Bonnie's morning passed, on the whole, very pleasantly. There were a few awkward moments, such as when Trev's aunts, having commanded Bonnie's company and shooed their nephew off unceremoniously, subjected her to a lengthy interview that, at times, more closely resembled a well-intentioned but no less intrusive cross-examination of her feelings for and intentions regarding Trev, or when, having made good her escape and joined the rest of the young people out on the lawn, she happened upon their daughters, Margot and Dana, who were similarly nosey and disposed to pry. Fortunately, their interest was more casual in nature, and they were easily diverted into talking about themselves.

Finally left to her own devices, Bonnie cast her eye over the sun-drenched slope in the hope of sighting Trev but there was such a welter of activity before her that she could not immediately pick him out. He was not among the guests stretched out on the sun-warmed grass, or strolling along the boardwalk, or competing in, to all appearances, a hotly-contested volleyball game. There were a number of tall, well-muscled blonds diving off the dock and cavorting in the lake's frigid water, but she could tell, even at a distance, that they were all, to a man, Trev's cousins. She spied a canoe heading back toward shore, and had all but convinced herself that Trev was one of the paddlers, when the lazy arc of a bright red ball drew her eye to the bottom of the hill where Trev and Vanna were taking on Emma and her current boyfriend at boules.

"There you are!" Trev said, when she'd made her way down to him. "Were you with Liv and Inga all this time? They weren't too objectionable, I hope?"

"They were fine," Bonnie assured him. "What's going on here?"

"Vanna and I just trounced Mitch and Emma." He raised his hand, palm up, and Vanna slapped hers against it. "This girl here can really play!"

"Beginner's luck," Vanna murmured, modestly. "Would you mind taking over for me, Bonnie? I see someone over there I need to talk to." She turned to go, but paused to lay a hand confidingly on Trev's arm. "You won't forget?"

"No, no. You can count on me."

She smiled her gratitude, and moved off, leaving Bonnie to stare after her. "What was that about?"

Trev waggled his barely-there brows. "Wouldn't you like to know!"


	28. Chapter 28: Sixty-four

28\. Sixty-four

The tantalizing aroma of grilling meat had drifted so long on the air that by the time lunch was announced, there was an immediate and grateful movement toward the heavily-laden tables the catering staff had set out along the inner edge of the terrace. Had Bonnie not been a seasoned veteran of Wyndham-Pryce family celebrations, her eyes must have opened wide at the sight of so enormous a variety and quantity of food. One table was covered end to end with nothing more than salads, the large assortment ranging from the everyday tossed greens through pasta and fruit salads to the more exotic offerings of tabbouleh and fattoush. Its near neighbor boasted a huge bowl of peeled, cooked shrimp on ice surrounded on three sides by platters of chicken wings, miniature crab cakes, baby quiche lorraine and, Bonnie's particular downfall, flaky spinach turnovers. On the longest table, a line of covered chafing dishes kept the charred salmon steaks, pork spare ribs, chicken kebabs and sirloin tips piping hot, and if none of these appealed, Bridget was standing ready at the grill to cook hamburgers and sausages to order. A selection of cookies, patisseries, and bite-sized cupcakes, enticingly arranged on tiered stands, was provided to tide over those too impatient for dessert to wait for cake and ice cream. An outsider might have judged it folly, or worse, to provide so lavish a feast, but Bonnie knew better than to underestimate the appetite of the clan's younger members, some of whom, she often thought, could rise to stardom in the world of competitive eating. Within the hour, the huge spread had been largely decimated.

While the caterers restored order and prepared to serve the meal's _pièce de résistance_ , the Senator graciously submitted to his guests' nagging and opened the gifts they had brought for him. There were the usual unimaginative presents: bottles of fine wine and expensive liquor, red, white and blue neckwear, gourmet foodstuffs, and curious gadgets. Bonnie was only too conscious that her gift of a vintage silver tie clip embellished with the figure of a mallard in flight fell in this category, and though the Senator thanked her with genuine warmth, she could not help but note with chagrin the greater pleasure he took in examining the darling little decoy Vanna had chosen for him. The Senator's nephews and nieces, being an irreverent bunch, treated their uncle to mugs decorated with tasteless wordplay ("Duck my sick" and "Master Baiter"), industrial-size jars of antacid tablets and pain relievers, goofy headgear, and t-shirts with clever sayings the Senator was unlikely ever to wear. Dana's beribboned wicker basket crammed to overflowing with such useful items as hair dye for men, laxatives, hemorrhoid cream, travel-packs of adult diapers, candy fake teeth and a collapsible cane was the last present of the afternoon, and, to judge by the Senator's laughter, the best gag gift of all.

No sooner was the Senator's loot collected and arrayed on a nearby table, than the patio door slid open to disgorge Bridget and, on her heels, two of her employees carrying on the cloth-draped board between them the multi-tiered birthday cake. A murmur of appreciation went up as the men walked carefully down the sloping lawn and maneuvered the precarious creation onto the table set up to receive it. In keeping with the setting, the pastry chef had chosen a nautical theme: the bottom round layer had been frosted in various shades of blue to resemble waves, while along the lip surrounding the middle tier two motor boats shaped entirely of fondant chased one another around. The top layer, iced white and encircled by a ring of yellow candles, was surmounted by a large sun-shaped medallion in whose center glittered the numbers six and four. The men, having delivered the cake without incident, stepped back to a smattering of applause which they acknowledged with relieved grins.

This was apparently Trev's cue, as, without a word to anyone, he rose from his spot at the picnic table and moved to take up a position before the company. "Everyone! Hey, there! Can I have your attention please?" He had to repeat himself several times before the buzz of conversation completely died down, and all eyes turned his way. He gestured toward the impressive confection behind him. "I know you're all impatient for a slice of that delicious-looking cake, but when you're celebrating the birthday of someone of my father's great age…" He favored the Senator with an impudent, laughing look. "…it takes quite a while to light all the candles. Fortunately, cake is not the only remaining highlight on the program today. We have with us Vanna Greeley…"

At the mention of her name, Vanna detached herself from a group of her fellow campaign staffers and, with a general smile and wave, wended her way to Trev's side. She had, from somewhere, unearthed a bamboo walking cane and an old straw boater which she'd set at a rakish angle on her head.

"Many of you will remember Vanna as a former Miss Virginia Teen and a runner-up for the Miss Virginia title a few years back. As a contestant, her talent was singing…"

"Not opera!" Vanna broke in with a reassuring grin. "Don't worry!"

"You do mostly show tunes and old standards, right?" At Vanna's nod, Trev turned back to the crowd. "So, friends and family, I'm pleased to announce you're in for a special treat. As a last tribute for today's guest of honor, Vanna is going to sing a golden oldie that some of you senior citizens in the audience might recognize. At least," he clarified, "you might recognized the tune. The lyrics have been adapted to suit the occasion. So…" He consulted Vanna with his eyes and received equally wordless permission. "Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, please join me in welcoming today's featured performer, Vanna Greeley!"

The gathering, disposed to be pleased, burst into encouraging applause with a few shrill whistles and staccato hoots thrown in for good measure. Vanna doffed her hat, and, placing it over her heart, bowed her appreciation left, right and center. Straightening, she extended an arm to one side, and indicated a dark, reed-thin young man who was striding toward her. "On the clarinet, ladies and gentlemen, my able accompanist, Steve Yates. Today, for your entertainment, we are going to perform our take on a classic by — I'm assured by credible sources! — one of the Senator's all-time favorite bands. This particular song, Senator, was a hit before your mother was born, and though she was born a long, long time ago, it's one you might know. Everyone, please feel free to clap along, and if you catch on to the refrain by the end, don't hesitate to join in. We're calling our version 'Now you're sixty-four'." She planted the cane between widely-set feet, leaned her weight onto the curved head, and looked Steve's way. He took the mouthpiece of his instrument between his lips and, at her nod, produced the first bars of an old-timey-type melody which seemed, to Bonnie, vaguely familiar. As the intro played, Vanna swayed from the waist in time, and then, swinging the cane up under one arm, began to sing.

"Now that you're older,

Losing your hair, and your hearing, too,

We will still be sending you valentines,

Birthday greetings, bottles of wine.

You work so hard to serve public good.

Who could ask for more?

That's why we need you,

And we still heed you,

Now you're sixty-four."

As she sang, Vanna was in constant, fluid motion, moving lightly on her feet, and flourishing the hat and cane to great advantage. In the brief musical interlude between one verse and the next, she rested the point of the cane against the turf, and capered round it in mincing steps. The music tailed away, she gave her cane a twirl, and sang on.

"You could be handy helming a cruise when our lunch is done.  
We could motor over to the lake's far side.  
That would be a heck of a ride!  
But not if you'd rather take a short nap,  
Not if it's a chore!  
We will still need you.  
We will still heed you, now you're sixty-four."

The audience, hugely entertained, had started clapping to the beat, but had to give it up as the song transitioned to a faster rhythm at the bridge.

"Every summer you have spent your week-ends at this lake-front house (Though it's not too near!).  
You relax and rest.  
Friends, neighbors, family here at your request."

Having come in for an honorable mention, the listeners cheered themselves, and then, the clarinet solo signaling a return to familiar musical ground, they took up clapping once again. Vanna executed a neat little jig to the jaunty tune, and, catching the cane up lengthwise between her hands, prepared to bring the performance to a rousing close.

"We wish you happy, we wish you well.  
On your special day.  
Best of health, increasing wealth, a joyful life —  
That's our wish for you and your wife!  
May the Good Lord in Heaven above bless you evermore!  
Because we still need you,  
And we will heed you, now you're sixty-four."

Enough of the audience had chimed in on the refrain to embolden Vanna to cry out, "One more time, together!" and the company had responded beautifully, singing the lines in an admittedly ragged but wonderfully lusty manner, to enormous general satisfaction. Steve played the sprightly musical phrase one last time, and Vanna, after a final lively turn around her cane, pulled off her hat as the last note sounded and lunged into a snappy, sideways bow.

As one, young and old jumped to their feet and rent the air with clamorous applause. Shouts of "bravo" and "encore" were heard above the commotion as Vanna and Steve accepted their ovation with bright smiles and slight bows. It appeared, when Vanna raised both hands for quiet and announced a next number, that the crowd was to be indulged, but she only gestured to the cake, now topped by a ring of miniature flames, and led everyone in belting out a heartfelt rendition of the traditional "Happy Birthday" song.

The candles were blown out, though not, despite the Senator's best efforts, with a single breath, and, with that, the festivities, properly speaking, were felt to have drawn to a close. The guests settled contentedly back down on their chairs and benches, and resumed or initiated conversations, waiting patiently for Bridget's employees to deliver them their fair portion of cake and ice cream. Bonnie nudged Trev, and pointed across the lawn where Vanna and Steve, heaped dessert plates in hand, were receiving personal thanks from the Senator and Freya. "Vanna was really great, wasn't she? With a voice like that, it's a wonder she's not doing musical theater. And she can hoof it, too."

"A woman of many talents," Trev agreed.

"Did you notice she seemed to know all about the yearly after-dinner cruise? I wonder how she heard about it."

"No mystery there. I told her."

"You?"

Trev shrugged. "She was looking for ways to personalize the lyrics, so I let her pick my brain. Not that I'm taking any credit. She worked the whole thing out herself."

Bonnie turned and pretended to study him, her eyes narrowed in mock-suspicion. "First, the car-pool plot, and now, this… It seems you and Vanna have been putting your heads together quite a bit lately. Should I be jealous?"

His face flared with such a mix of wonder and delight that Bonnie immediately regretted teasing him. He recovered quickly, assuming an air of nonchalance and raillery. "You're still running unopposed. For the moment."

"All right, then," Bonnie said, somewhat lamely to her own ears. "Good to know." With some relief, she saw Bridget heading directly toward them, cake plates in hand. "Oh, look! They're finally getting around to us. I can't think how it's happened, but I'm ravenous again!"


	29. Chapter 29: Reasons

29\. Reasons

At twenty-six feet in length and nine feet across at the beam, the Wyndham-Pryce motor boat was a commodious, richly-appointed craft, but, even so, it could not accommodate at one time all the party-goers who thronged the boardwalk in anticipation of the promised hour-long lake cruise. The Senator, claiming that a chaise longue was calling his name, had delegated his tour guide duties to Trev, and had strolled down to the dock with the sole intention of seeing the boat off. With Solomon-like wisdom, he decreed that those who had never yet had the pleasure should be the first aboard, and, as that criterion applied to nearly all the campaign volunteers, the fore and aft lounges were soon crammed with chattering young people. At Emma's urging, a few more inches of bench space were freed up for herself and Mitch, and, with that, the boat was filled to capacity. From his raised seat at the helm, Trev scanned the closely-packed passengers for any more wiggle-room, but there was none to be had. He was standing, irresolute, looking at Bonnie stranded on the shore, when Vanna suddenly popped up from her seat, and moved toward the boarding gate.

"Bonnie," she called, preparing to disembark, "take my place. I'm not that big on boating, anyway."

Bonnie's protest was immediate, and firmly seconded by the Senator. "That's very kind of you, my dear, but Bonnie's done the lake cruise so many times, I doubt she'll mind missing it this once. Add to that, if you sit yourself back down, you'll be doing me a favor. It's not often I get this lovely creature all to myself." He turned to Bonnie, his craggy face transformed by his courtly smile. "What do you say? Will you keep an old codger company while he puts up his feet for a while?"

Bonnie found herself absurdly tempted to curtsy at so gallant an invitation. "It'll be my pleasure, sir."

They waved the boat on its way, and turned their steps companionably up the long sloping lawn. The Senator set a leisurely, not to say plodding, pace up the hill, and dropped with a grateful sigh onto one of a line of thickly-padded lounge chairs set out at the top of the rise. Bonnie, settling onto the chair beside his, noticed a certain pinched look about his eyes and mouth, and wondered if he wouldn't do well to take the short nap Vanna had teased him about in her song.

Her concern must have been evident, as the Senator smiled a touch ruefully. "Getting old is not for the faint of heart, Bonnie." He stretched out his long legs, and leaned back into the cushions. With his right hand, he kneaded his left shoulder, beginning at the neck and continuing down to the upper arm. "Time was, I could take out a canoe, paddle the morning away, and be none the worse for it the rest of the day. Now, especially early in the season like this, the muscles complain like nobody's business."

Bonnie frowned in sympathy. "Can I get you anything for the soreness? Aspirin? Ibuprofen?"

"Thank you, no. All taken care of." His hand slid down to his breastbone, and began to scrub at his chest. "But if you wouldn't mind fetching me that birthday jar of Tums, I'd be glad of a tablet or two. You'd think I'd know better than to stuff myself with buffalo wings…"

Bonnie took the time to remove the container's stubborn security packaging and loosen the lid before returning with it to the Senator. He took it from her with thanks, and, plunging his hand into the wide opening, brought up a fistful of pastel-colored discs which he proceeded to pop, one after another, in his mouth, like candy. Watching him from only the corner of her eye as she sat looking out over the tranquil scene before them, Bonnie thought she saw him ingest at least four.

At length, he lowered the jar to the ground, and, lacing his long fingers together, rested his hands on his abdomen. He rolled his head slightly in her direction. "I'm sorry you weren't able to make it out here last night, Bonnie. We missed you."

Bonnie could not think how to respond to this, and covered her confusion with a weak smile. "I heard Mitch was here," she said, trying for lightness.

"Mitch!" The Senator snorted. "He certainly suffered by comparison, let me tell you! Honestly, I don't think I've ever met anyone with so little to say for himself. Where does Emma find these guys, can you tell me? It's getting to the point I think she scrapes the bottom of the barrel just to provoke us!"

The Senator appeared to be joking, but there was, Bonnie thought, a kernel of truth in what he said: Emma did routinely take up with men almost certain to trigger her parents' disapproval. All told, apart from his predilection for monosyllables and his general lack of animation, Mitch had struck Bonnie as an inoffensive specimen. "Maybe Mitch was just feeling a bit out of his depth. You know, new people, unfamiliar surroundings…"

The Senator harrumphed again, and fell silent, his gaze fixed for a spell on the idyllic panorama spread out below. The sky continued an unblemished blue over the slightly darker lake waters that stretched, barely ruffled, between the newly-green, tree-lined shores. In the distance, a lone pontoon boat motored sedately past one of the multimillion dollar showplaces that were increasingly replacing the area's older, more modest vacation homes, while closer in, a number of rubber dinghies, small row boats and colorful canoes made their slow way along or bobbed gently in place. Bonnie could not quite stifle a contented sigh at so peaceful a sight.

"It _is_ a beautiful view," the Senator said, as if she had spoken. "I never get tired of it, even after all these years. It's a delight to the eye, and restores the soul somehow. Which reminds me, Bonnie, I've been wanting to tell you all day how much I love the Virginia series paintings. I always knew you were talented, but you really outdid yourself with those three. I can't wait to hang them in my Capitol office. My fellow senators will be green with envy. Thank you, my dear."

Bonnie smiled at this extravagant, if no less genuine, praise. "I'm so glad you like them, Senator. But, to be fair, you've no cause to thank me. I may have painted them, but it was Trev who thought to buy them for you. It was all his idea."

The Senator's brows drew down in confusion. "I thought… Are you saying they're not a gift from both of you?"

Bonnie shook her head, sorry to be the one to disabuse him. "If Trev told you otherwise…"

"No," he broke in quickly. "No, he didn't. It's on me, my mistake. I guess I heard what I wanted to hear instead of what was said." He grimaced apologetically. "Now you know why all my speeches are carefully scripted. Left to my own devices, I invariably stick my big foot in my mouth. I'm sorry, Bonnie. I hope you know I'd never try to pressure you."

"I do know that," she assured him. "And I'm sorry this is all so awkward just now. Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to put all this indecision behind me, one way or the other. It's just… I don't want to have any doubts, for Trev's sake as much as for my own. Marriage is a huge step, with a lifetime of consequences. I don't want to get it wrong."

The Senator nodded his understanding. "Until death-do-you-part is a very long time. You don't want to make a commitment like that without some degree of confidence."

"Exactly." Perversely, though, the Senator's evenhandedness made Bonnie feel rather worse than better. She considered him uncertainly. "I suppose," she ventured, "you accepted Freya's proposal the first time she asked you."

He burst out in a short laugh. "She told you about that, did she?" Freya, seated some feet away at a patio table with her sisters, looked over at the sound of her husband's laughter, and regarded them quizzically. At the Senator's grin and wave, she smiled indulgently and returned to her conversation. "The old girl's still proud of herself after all this time, and why not? I put up quite a fight."

Bonnie jerked her head round to stare at him. "You turned her down?"

"Hard to credit, isn't it? Here was this beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman throwing herself at me, and all I could do was try my best to push her away." He shook his head ruefully, and seemed to lose himself for a time in contemplating the folly of his younger self.

Bonnie waited, hoping he'd continue on his own, but when he didn't, she prompted, "You didn't love her then?"

"Oh, no. Just the opposite: I was crazy about her. And I wasn't the only one. She had any number of suitors, all men with much more to offer her than yours truly."

"That can't be true!"

He rewarded her indignant outburst with a faint smile. "Trust me, Bonnie, I was not the prize back then that I am today. Sure, I boasted a prominent family, and a very healthy bank account, but that hardly made me unique in her social circle. In fact, when we first met, rumor had her all-but-engaged to a real up-and-comer, a brilliant guy with silver-screen good looks and enough drive and ambition to make the world his oyster. He made good on his early promise, too. The name Kingston Ross ring any bells?"

Bonnie gasped. "The Vice President?"

He inclined his head. "And the man widely predicted to be the next Republican occupant of the Oval Office. At this very moment, Freya could be nursing expectations of an eight-year stint as the country's First Lady if she'd taken my sound advice and married him. God knows I pleaded his case hard enough. She was stubborn, though, and wouldn't listen to reason."

Bonnie's eyes wandered irresistibly to the patio table where Freya still sat, back straight, limbs gracefully disposed, chin held high, every inch the grande dame. "She'd've made a wonderful First Lady."

"No doubt about it. But then, she'd've made a success of anything she turned her mind to. The sky was the limit. I've often thought she should've run for office herself — she'd be one heck of a senator in her own right — but she's preferred all these years to stay in the background, my indispensable right hand and staunchest supporter. To this day, I honestly don't know what it was she saw in me, but I thank my lucky stars she kept at me until I finally gave up trying to save her from herself and accepted that, in defiance of all logic and good sense, she loved me."

Given the Senator's light tone, Bonnie suspected he was exaggerating somewhat for humorous effect, but, as before, she sensed that, at bottom, he was speaking the truth as he knew it. Bonnie was familiar with this particular story, though she hadn't known it was the Senator's, too. "My grandfather Booth felt much the same about my grandmother. It never ceased to amaze him that so extraordinary a woman could love an average joe like him, but it was obvious she did, devotedly. There's no accounting for love, he told me once. The heart wants what it wants."

"That it does." He smiled appreciatively. "You know, I've never heard the sentiment expressed quite that way before. I'm more familiar with Pascal's 'the heart has reasons that reason knows nothing of.' I think, no disrespect to the great French philosopher, I might like your grandfather's way of putting it better."

Bonnie was suddenly reminded of an anecdote her grandmother had shared with her many years before. She had found it puzzling and wholly unsatisfying at the time, but thinking back on it now and in the context of the current conversation, she thought she understood what her Grammy T had been trying to say. "Do you know, Senator, what my grandmother considered the most romantic thing my grandfather ever said to her?"

He looked across his shoulder at her, his eyes bright with curiosity. "No, what?"

"One day, my grandfather challenged her to tell him her top three reasons for loving him, and, put on the spot, she had a little trouble, but, in the end, she came through with three reasons which, by her own admission, were fairly lame. When she turned the tables on him, and demanded he give his top three reasons for loving her, he didn't even hesitate. 'I don't have any reasons,' he told her."

The Senator continued to regard her as if still waiting for the punch line. "Not quite what I was expecting," he admitted at last.

"I know. That was my initial reaction, too. But, it's like Pascal said, the heart isn't swayed by reason. Love isn't something we have to earn, or prove ourselves worthy of. It's a gift, freely given, without any strings. I think she understood him to mean that he loved her unconditionally."

"Without reasons." He appeared to mull this over, then nodded thoughtfully. "Romantic, but not in any conventional way. He's always been an original, your grandfather."

Bonnie could not have agreed more. "One of a kind."

Out on the lake, the Wyndham-Pryce deck boat, recognizable even at a distance by its unusually sleek lines and deep red trim, had reached the farthest point of its circuit, and was beginning its final turn toward home. It would be pulling up to the dock in another half hour at most.

"Bonnie…" The Senator's voice was so tentative, she twisted onto her side for a better look at him. He smiled in his gentle fashion. "I just wanted to say, while I have the chance, that… well, you and Trev have been living in each other's pockets so long, I've come to think of you as part of the family, as my other daughter, so to speak. I've watched you grow from a gangly girl to the stunning woman you are today, and, ridiculous as it may sound, I feel like I've had a hand in raising you myself. It's unpardonably presumptuous of me, I know…"

"Not at all, Senator," Bonnie said, around a lump in her throat. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm honored you feel that way."

He patted her hand fondly. "I want you to know, whatever happens between you and Trev, whether or not you marry, I'll always feel the same about you. You're family. Will you remember that?"

Too moved for words, Bonnie could only nod.

He patted her hand again. "All right, then."


	30. Chapter 30: Results

30\. Results

Sampling and testing the paint layers that comprised _La Coupe d'amour_ had proven a time-consuming and laborious process, but, in the end, the results had more than repaid Baer and Bonnie's painstaking efforts: Dr. Cummings' continued caution notwithstanding, it seemed increasingly certain the Jeffersonian had, in its possession, a previously-unknown, original Lebrun.

Chemical analysis showed, beyond doubt, that all the pigments, resins and oils used in producing the painting were appropriate to the late eighteenth century, and, while this was encouraging in itself, Dr. Cummings would have been justified in categorizing the findings as merely supportive of a Lebrun authentication, had there not been more.

"When the Louvre version was taken down for inspection and cleaning twenty years ago, the conservation team followed recommended protocol, and documented every step of the treatment. We found a full report in the literature, and were able to compare the results of their materials tests to our own."

Dr. Cummings, elbows resting on the expanse of his desk top, looked over his steepled fingers at Baer. "And…?"

Baer turned to Bonnie and nodded. She took a deep breath, and tried to contain her excitement. "The correlation was almost perfect! The palettes for both paintings are quite limited, and the pigments employed are demonstrably the same. Also, when not used pure, the colors are mixed in the exact same proportions."

Dr. Cummings remained wary. "But there are differences?"

"Very minor ones. The ground of the Louvre copy was commercially prepared, whereas the ground of the Jeff's was applied in studio, and the upper ground colors are not a match, either. In the Jeff's version, which we think predates the Louvre's, the artist was apparently aiming for a luminous effect and went with an off-white undercoat, while later he preferred a rosier skin tone, and used a deep pink instead. In all other respects, though, the paintings are, in their chemical make-up, virtually identical."

At long last, Dr. Cummings allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "As evidence goes, I call that very compelling. When you factor in the major pentimento, too, I'd say our position is extremely strong. That being said, I think it's best, before we go public, to have some expert opinion ranged on our side. Added credibility is always welcome."

Baer nodded his accord. "Do you have anyone particular in mind for the job?"

Dr. Cummings pursed his lips thoughtfully, and shook his head. "Obviously, some relatively local scholar of the French Rococo period would be ideal for our purposes, and there're bound to be a few well-respected authorities in the field at one or another of the area universities, but I've been giving this some thought, and it occurs to me that, as a matter of professional courtesy, we should probably contact Henri Perrin, and give his staff first crack at evaluating the painting."

"Perrin," Baer repeated. "The Chief Curator of Paintings at the Louvre?"

"It's hardly convenient for us, I know," Dr. Cummings said, mistaking Baer's clarification for mild objection. "But I can't help but feel they have a stake in this, after all. At the moment, they think they have the only _Coupe d'amour_ in existence. It seems ungentlemanly, somehow, to announce our discovery without giving them fair warning." He looked from Baer to Bonnie and back again. "Unless you think I'm being overscrupulous?"

"No," Baer said quickly, speaking for both of them. "You're right. It's bound to slow us up, but if, at the end of the day, the Jeff and the Louvre can present a unified front, it'll be well worth any delay."

"We're agreed, then: I'll get in touch with Henri, and bring him up to speed. Chances are good he'll laugh me off at first — and who can blame him? — but once I convince him we're on the level, I'm confident he'll ship his people out expeditiously. Who knows? Maybe he'll even make the trip himself. It'd be good to see the old boy again."

While they waited for Dr. Cummings' deputation to the French to bear fruit, Bonnie, under Dr. Baer's watchful eye, began the exacting task of removing the fine particles of soot that overlay much of the painting's surface. As it was work that required intense focus, but did nothing, otherwise, to occupy the mind, Bonnie's thoughts turned with depressing regularity to her private inquiry into the mystery that was Lebrun. It was not, to put it mildly, going well. She had followed her grandfather's suggestion, and had made a close study of the Lebrun _catalogue raisonnée,_ paying special attention to the paintings completed in the years leading up to _La Coupe d'amour_ , but, though there was no dearth of female figures to examine, Bonnie found only one whose features could possibly be said to resemble those of the lovely, drapery-clad runner.

She was not, however, a women, but a girl, and figured as the young daughter of a respectable bourgeois household in _La famille tranquille_. In Lebrun's prize-winning painting, the family patriarch, the focal point of the piece, sat before the evening fire reading aloud to his loved ones from what was, presumably, the Holy Bible, while they, for their part, might or might not have been attending: his wife, head bowed over her needlework, was intent on her mending, his young son, sprawled on the hearth rug, put a wooden horse through its paces and his daughter, demurely seated on his left in a high-backed chair, dandled a King Charles spaniel over her lap. As she was also pictured in profile, Bonnie could easily compare the curve of the forehead, the roundness of the cheek, and the strength of the chin. To her eye, they were substantially the same in both figures.

When she put the question to her grandfather, however, he expressed reservations. "They have something of the same look," he allowed, studying the two greatly-magnified images that had been set side by side on Bonnie's tablet screen. "This one, though, is hardly more than a child. She's, what, all of twelve years old? When was the earlier painting finished?"

"It was shown in 1770, so maybe that year or the year before. We know Lebrun spent the next three years in Rome, and since he submitted _La Coupe d'amour_ to the Salon of 1775, we can assume he was back in Paris no later than 1774."

"Which would've made her sixteen or seventeen when he returned." Booth's gaze lingered over the enchanting profile of the later painting. "I grant you there's a youthfulness to this one's face, a kind of blurriness around the edges as if she hasn't yet grown completely into her adult features, but, to my way of thinking, that's not the body of an adolescent. I'm not saying it's impossible," he was quick to assure her. "Only that what you have here is not enough to build a case on."

Sadly, Bonnie could not disagree; she'd been wondering, indeed, if she'd been grasping at straws. She clicked off the double image and put the tablet aside. "It's back to square one," she sighed.

"Buck up, Bonbon. When one angle doesn't work out, there's bound to be another you can try."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Tell you what, let's have Lebrun's bio again, and we'll see what shakes loose."

Rather than rely on memory, Bonnie brought Michel Doucette's chapter up on her tablet, and read aloud very nearly half of it before her grandfather interrupted. "There, that last part. Lebrun had a falling out with his friend and traveling companion, Eugene something or other."

"Eugène Blanchard." Bonnie looked back over the pertinent sentences. "And Doucette makes it sound like Lebrun was the one to instigate the break."

"Could be we've been barking up the wrong tree all this time, Sweet Tart. Maybe we should have been thinking 'Cherchez…' What's French for 'man'?"

"Gramps!" Bonnie objected. "You're forgetting Lebrun was notorious for servicing the wives of his noble patrons. He fathered any number of children."

He shrugged, unimpressed. "So, he was bi-sexual. His true love Blanchard breaks his heart, and he swears off men completely as a result. Hey!" He raised his hands defensively at her stony glare. "I get you don't like it, but it's a working hypothesis, and a place to start. Who was this Blanchard fellow, and what's his part in the story?"

If there had been little information on-line about Antoine Lebrun's personal life, about Eugène Blanchard there was next to nothing. He was, as his given name suggested, well-born, scion of a noble family that proudly traced their lineage back, unbroken, to one Alain Blanchard, a fifteenth-century warrior who had been raised to the title of baron on the strength of his heroic service to the crown during the Hundred Years War. In the centuries that succeeded, the family had grown in influence and wealth, and could afford to support the artistic ambitions of such younger sons as Eugène without hardship. Perhaps because he had not been obliged to live off the proceeds of his art, the number of paintings known to have been produced by Eugène was small, and these, while beautiful in their way and executed with skill if not brilliance, were not of a quality deemed worthy to hang in major art institutions. General consensus held that Blanchard, a competent practitioner, had been, at best, a minor talent.

About his connection to Lebrun, no mention was made, and Bonnie had no great hopes of finding references to such an obscure friendship in the sources readily available to her. She would have liked her chances had she been able to access the full archives of _la Bibliothèque Nationale_ but a jaunt across the pond was, for the foreseeable future, entirely out of the question. She was not without some recourse, however; Michel Doucette was in Paris, and might, conceivably, be imposed upon to look into Eugène Blanchard for her. Given his extensive research, she did not think it impossible he already had some worthwhile intelligence to share. As she was not in possession of his contact information, she asked his thesis advisor, Professor Martineau, to pass on her request for a consultation, and waited with what patience she could muster for Doucette to reply.

When, only hours later, her vid-screen alerted her to an in-coming call from France, she could hardly believe her luck. She thumbed the call through, already rehearsing in her mind the words she would use to couch her request for help, but it was not, after all, an unfamiliar man's image that appeared on her screen. "Marquise!" she exclaimed, in her surprise.

Madame Vincent's eyes sparkled, and a smile danced on her lips. "It is very bad of me, Bonnie, I know, particularly as it is supposed to be such a secret, but I simply had to call and congratulate you. An original Lebrun, _parbleu_! And to recollect, _ma petite_ , how I scoffed! You have had the last laugh, _après tout_!"

"But…" Bonnie stammered. "I don't understand… How do you know?"

"Oh, as to that, I was with Henri, going over revisions to the Louvre fellowship application forms, when your delectable Dr. Cummings phoned. Henri thought it a great joke at first, but now he is absolutely chomping at the bit to see this wonder, as am I. Please assure me I may come and have a sneak peek at it when I return to DC at the end of the month!"

"I'm afraid that's not up to me, Madame. Perhaps as M. Perrin's guest… He is coming, then?"

"Just try to keep him away! He will bring along one or two others, I cannot say for certain who. And this works out marvelously well for me, as my dear Henri will be able to attend the private view of my art show at the Tremont. You may remember I mentioned it when we saw one another in April."

"Of course," Bonnie said, not quite truthfully. "Do you have a date?"

"Thursday, May 28. No need to jot it down. You'll receive your invitation soon. One for you, and one for your handsome Dr. Baer. You _will_ coax him into coming, won't you, my dear? I am quite counting on you."

"I'll do my best, Madame." It was the second time she had lied in less than sixty seconds.


	31. Chapter 31: Revelations

31\. Revelations

On the one hand, the Jeffersonian team could not have been more gratified by the despatch shown by their counterparts at the Louvre: Henri Perrin had put his delegation together in less than twenty-four hours, and the party of three, all flight and hotel arrangements made and confirmed, were scheduled to arrive in D. C. in six days' time. On the other hand, the impending arrival entailed long days for Bonnie and late hours for Baer as Dr. Cummings, quite rightly, insisted that they should, at the very least, have a clean painting to present for inspection. If, in addition, they could make a start at removing the disfiguring varnish, that would be all to the good.

By dint of concerted effort, Baer and Bonnie had the filmy black layer removed with a whole day to spare, and had the satisfaction of seeing a perceptibly brighter, if still yellowed, image on their easel. It was also, for the first time, possible to make out greater detail: in what had seemed, before, an undifferentiated mass of background foliage, individual branches and clumps of leaves could be discerned, and, in the foreground, a smattering of fuzzy dots revealed itself to be a small flowering plant. Perhaps most importantly, what might have been misconstrued as the bottom fold of the woman's drapery could now clearly be seen as the lower extremity of her back leg. Bonnie could hardly wait to see what other surprises the painting's conservation held in store.

They could not move on to removing the varnish, however, before making a careful determination as to which solvent could most safely by applied to each of the various pigments. First to be tested were the carbon black and black-yellow compounds of the forest backdrop. Dr. Baer brushed a dab of solvent gel over the small triangle of the upper right hand corner, and then cautiously swabbed the area clean. The cotton tip came away slightly soiled, but with no trace of either color. "Looks good to me. What do you think?"

Bonnie leaned in over his shoulder, and scrutinized the paint surface. The shine supplied by the varnish was gone, but the paint layer was undisturbed. "No damage."

He nodded. "Make a note of it, and then…" He glanced up at the digital timepiece on the wall, and grimaced. "Head on out of here. You've put in more than enough hours for one day."

Bonnie reached gratefully for the top button of her lab coat, but stopped when Dr. Baer dipped the brush once again into the solvent. "Are you staying?"

"Just a bit longer. Don't worry." He slanted her a roguish smile, and Bonnie could only thank the heavens above he didn't do so with greater regularity. "I'll leave plenty for you to do in the morning."

Still she hesitated, conscious of the crisp card lying in the depths of her coat's patch pocket. As promised, she'd not had long to wait for the invitations to the private view of Madame Vincent's show, intriguingly titled "Connections." The glossy rectangles, complete with a full-color reproduction of one of the artist's vivid paintings, had appeared in Bonnie's departmental mail box several days before, but she had, so far, lacked the intestinal fortitude to carry out her commission. She slipped a hand into her pocket, and fingered the card's sharp edge. "Dr. Baer…"

"How about this?" he broke in, not so much impatient as brisk. "When it's just the two of us, we'll dispense with formality. I'll call you 'Bonnie,' and you can call me 'Baer.' It'll save time."

"Baer…" Bonnie repeated uncertainly, not immediately comfortable with the unadorned syllable; it struck her ear as borderline disrespectful. Her grandmothers, it was true, had been in the habit of calling their husbands by their family names, but that had stemmed from their having started out as colleagues on an equal professional footing, and so was not comparable. Bonnie thought she just might be able to fall in with Dr. Baer's suggestion if she altered the spelling of that one syllable in her mind. She considered him, watching her with quirked brows, and imagined herself saying 'Bear.' It suited him. "Deal."

"So…" He raised the brush, and gently swept the bristles over the painted foliage. "You had something to say?"

"Yes." She pasted a smile on her face, and tried to project a nonchalance she was far from feeling. "I have an invitation to a private view next Thursday at the Tremont. I suppose you might more properly call it a _vernissage_ , since the artist is French. Or rather, she's not French at all, but a transplanted American, like my maternal grandmother who, I may have mentioned, lives in Paris. That's how I know her. The artist, I mean. She's one of my grandmother's dearest friends. You're probably familiar with her work, she's known the world over, and very likely anyone who's anyone in the D. C. art community will be there…"

"Please accept my congratulations on your great good fortune."

"That's not… I mean, yes, but… The thing is…" She was babbling, flustered, and, wanting nothing so much as to have the whole conversation behind her, blurted out, all in a rush. "I'd like it very much if you'd come with me. If you're free, of course, and you want to," she tacked on weakly.

Her words had, quite literally, an arresting effect on him: the hand holding the brush hovered clear of the canvas, and the up-raised arm stilled. Only his head moved, as he slowly turned to stare at her. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"What? No! Oh, no!" she protested, perhaps too quickly. "I would never…!"

"Of course not." He gave her his profile again, but not before she caught his poorly-suppressed smile. Taking up a fresh swab, he cleaned away the dissolving varnish. "I see what it is. Your fiancé will be out of town, and you don't want to go to this fancy shindig solo."

She knew he was baiting her, and still it set her teeth on edge. "For the last time, I don't have a fiancé."

"Is Wyndham-Pryce aware of that?" When she didn't deign to answer, he shot a glance in her direction, and managed to look the tiniest bit self-conscious. "This famous artist of yours," he said, on a conciliatory note, "what's her name? Just so you know, I make it a policy never to attend private views of unknown artists. Too often it's a waste of time."

"I know her as Rosalie Vincent, Marquise de Sancerre, but she began painting before her marriage, and continues to sign her work with her maiden name." Bonnie fished the invitation out of her pocket, and, accepting the cleaning swab in exchange, handed it to him. "Rose Mundy. Not a household name maybe, but, I think you'll agree, a prominent figure on the contemporary art scene."

He studied the card a long time, longer, indeed, than the perusal of the few, well-spaced lines of printed information could possibly have required in and of themselves. As the silence lengthened, and Bear continued to scowl, Bonnie, feeling out of her depth, ventured, "You _have_ heard of her?"

"Oh, yes," he said, in a flat tone with a faintly bitter tinge. "In fact, you might say I'm better acquainted with Rose Mundy than I care to be. Be straight with me, Bonnie," he went on before she could find her voice. He held one corner of the invitation between his thumb and forefinger, and wagged it back and forth. "Did she put you up to this?"

Bonnie felt her jaw go slack. "How did you know?"

His smile was decidedly wry. "Apart from the fact that, by your own admission, it never would've occurred to you to ask me on your own?" He passed the card back to her. "It's a ploy she's used before. She knows I'd flat out refuse if she invited me directly."

Bonnie felt suddenly disoriented, as if she had crossed, all unaware, into some alternate reality. "But… that makes no sense! Madame spoke of you as if you'd never met, as if she needed an introduction."

He swiveled his seat to face her, and leaned into the back rest, all thought of cleaning momentarily forgotten. "She's not wrong, in a way. I don't know her, not personally, and I'm not interested in that changing any time soon. I made that perfectly plain when she tried to introduce herself four years ago in Paris. I was delivering a paper at the IIC Congress, and she came up to the stage after the question and answer period, and accosted me, bold as brass."

Bonnie could easily picture her dashing, forthright friend making a blatant play for a man she found attractive, and she could appreciate, too, that many men would consider advances from a much older woman distasteful, but Bear's evident disgust seemed out of all proportion to the occasion. "I don't understand. What was so awful about her approaching you?"

He shook his head mutely, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to explain his reaction. Just when she thought no other reply would be forthcoming, he said on a sigh, "Let's just say her reputation preceded her."

Madame had never made a secret of her penchant for taking much younger lovers, and was generally held to be a lusty free spirit although there were, inevitably, a puritanical few who condemned her as a wanton cougar. Bonnie would never have suspected Bear of belonging to this small, censorious camp, and, indeed, despite what he said, she couldn't believe it of him. It didn't ring true, unless… Four years before, he had still been with Val, a family man with a toddler son. He might well have taken Madame's overture as an affront on that score, as an insult to his character and a blameworthy disregard for his commitment. "She asked me, not long ago, if you were married."

He looked at her blankly. "I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

"Only that…" Bonnie was all too conscious of the awkwardness of trying to defend the Marquise's behavior, and wondered what in the world had possessed her to attempt it. "It seems obvious to me she was acting under the misapprehension that you were single."

His heavy brows drew down, and he regarded her for a time as if she had just volunteered a particularly cryptic observation. At length, however, his expression cleared, and an unholy gleam shone in his eyes. "I don't know if I'm more appalled or flattered by your take on the situation, Bonnie, but in any event, you're way off base. She doesn't have designs on me. At least, not the kind you're imagining."

Bonnie felt a flush stain her cheeks, and had some difficulty meeting his eye. "But that's how she talks about you! She calls you 'handsome Dr. Baer,' and described you once as tall and broad-shouldered."

"I don't doubt she mislead you," he said grimly. "When it comes to getting her way, I put very little past her."

The sense of unreality had grown so strong, Bonnie did not know if she was coming or going. "I can't believe we're talking about the same woman! The Marquise I know may be many things, but she's not underhand or ruthless."

"Isn't she? You say she's your grandmother's dear friend, but how much do you really know about her? About her past?" He gestured to the card she had not yet returned to her pocket. "You said 'Rose Mundy' is her maiden name, but that's not right. It's the name she assumed when she moved to Paris." He held her eye meaningfully, the unspoken challenge clear: what else had she gotten wrong?

Bonnie thought how often she had wished that Madame might be prevailed upon to write her memoirs, how fascinating, illuminating and potentially explosive such a personal glimpse into the recent continental art world would be. To date, however, Madame had practiced a remarkable discretion. Were there other, less admirable, reasons for her reticence? She turned a troubled gaze on Bear. "How do you know so much about her?"

He straightened in his chair. "I've heard stories. From people I trust. And, no, don't ask me who. I've said too much as it is. She's your friend. You want the truth, ask her. As far as I'm concerned, the subject's closed." He picked up his brush again, and moistening the tip with solvent gel, swiveled back to the painting. "You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

Thus dismissed, Bonnie doffed her lab coat in silence, collected her bag, and started wearily for the door. "Have a nice evening, Bear."

"Bonnie…" She turned back to him, but he was facing away from her, leaning into the painting. "You can tell her, for me, that she chose her inducement well. It was a good plan. It almost worked."

She felt heat suffuse her face again. "I'll tell her you declined."

"As you like."


	32. Chapter 32: Unveiling

32\. Unveiling

Henri Perrin was a man renowned in museum circles for exquisite courtesy, and, as Chief Curator of Paintings at France's premier art institution, he had long experience with the more ceremonial aspects of his work, but even his legendary forbearance was not, apparently, without limits. "My dear Cummings," he said, with an urbanity that did not entirely mask a cresting impatience, "I know that I speak for Sébastien and Isabelle as well as for myself when I say how very thankful and profoundly moved we are by the great pains you have taken to make us feel welcome and to guarantee our comfort. Dinner last evening at your charming residence, and now, this morning, this bountiful breakfast…" He swept an arm gracefully over the linen-draped table gorgeously set with the Jeffersonian's own special event china and stemware. "You have even, if I do not mistake, put yourself to the considerable trouble of procuring authentic French breadstuffs."

Charles Cummings beamed with satisfaction. "I had the staff order in expressly from Boulangerie Patachou. They're said to have the best croissants, baguettes and brioches in the city."

"Délicieux," Perrin pronounced, sliding his plate with its burden of shredded but otherwise untouched pastry toward the center of the table. "A veritable taste of home. And it has been a distinct pleasure to meet your estimable young colleagues." He inclined his head graciously first in Baer's and then in Bonnie's direction, exposing the smooth skin of his balding pate. "But, as you can no doubt appreciate, mon vieux, we three are of an eagerness to examine this intriguing painting of yours, and find, under the circumstances, even the smallest of delays difficult to support. You will not think us uncivil, I hope, if I propose we dispense with further preliminaries, however agreeable, and pass on to the inspection of your discovery."

Cummings regarded his old friend with a rueful smile. "Poor Henri! I have tried your patience most abominably. If we have made a large fuss over you, it is only that we are very sensible of the honor of hosting such luminaries in the field as yourselves, and would not want to show you, M. Beaumont or Mme Auteuil any less than the full consideration you so richly deserve."

Isabelle Auteuil, a chic brunette whose biography placed her on the shady side of forty, favored her host with a droll look from very fine brown eyes, and stretched her generous mouth into an indulgent smile. Introduced as primary assistant to the head of painting restoration at the C2RMF, Mme Auteuil exuded a quiet air of distinction, self-possession and grace. Given her pleasing, highly-symmetrical features, lustrous dark hair, and luminous, wrinkle-free skin, she might easily have passed for a decade younger, and was, by anyone's standard, a very attractive woman, though perhaps not the stunner she had been as a green girl. She dabbed daintily at her lips with her cloth napkin, set it delicately to one side of her crumb-strewn plate, and awaited events.

For his part, Sébastien Beaumont acknowledged Dr. Cummings' remarks with a lordly dip of his well-coiffed head. There could still be seen in his high, noble forehead, wide hazel eyes, column-straight nose and square, slightly-dimpled chin the remains of what must once have been spectacular good looks, but the years, roughly equal in number to his female colleague's, had been less kind to him. The once guinea-gold hair had thinned and gone dull, the skin under the eyes had sagged into puffy crescents, and the strong line of his jaw had softened and grown flabby. Trained as an art historian, he had parleyed a connoisseur's eye, a detective's persistence and a gambler's disposition into a very lucrative career as an art middleman and gallery owner, and had traveled the world over in search of lost, misidentified or overpainted masterpieces which he sold on, often at enormous profit, to the museum directors and private collectors who formed his client base. If rumor was to be believed, his specialization in late eighteenth-century French paintings owed less to aesthetic appreciation than to a personal affinity for the loose, licentious lifestyle they depicted. "Your sentiments do you credit," he said, in a mellifluous baritone, "but Henri has the right of it. The suspense becomes unendurable."

"Can't have that," Dr. Cummings said, with just a hint of laughter in his voice. He pushed away from the table, and, rising from his chair, motioned toward the shrouded easel at the far end of the room. "Baer, Bonnie, if you'll do the honors."

As they had worked out in advance, Baer and Bonnie took up positions on either side of the easel, gripped the lower edge of the heavy muslin sheet, and awaited Dr. Cummings' signal. When he was satisfied that the visitors had come to stand a good viewing-distance away from the canvas, he moved to his own vantage point halfway between the two groups. His eyes never leaving the French delegation, he nodded curtly. "Now." Bonnie and Baer, in one swift, coordinated movement, flipped the covering up and over the easel, unveiling the long-anticipated painting underneath.

The initial reactions could not have been more gratifying. All three experts stood riveted, their gazes snared by the image, a variety of strong emotions playing over their faces. The color had drained noticeably from Mme Auteuil's cheeks, leaving her porcelain skin, already pale, almost white. The smug expression Beaumont had worn all morning had dropped completely away, replaced by a round-eyed look of wonder, fascination and undisguised avidity. Most affectingly, a heartfelt "Mon Dieu!" had been wrenched from Henri Perrin, who stared at the painting with tears gathering in his faded blue eyes. Bonnie spared a glance at Baer, and found him grinning at her. Their _Coupe d'amour_ had done it: it had passed the "first look" test.

Perrin was the first to recover and break ranks. "Vous permettez?" he said, forgetting, in his commotion, to speak English. Dr. Cummings waved him forward, and Bonnie and Baer stepped back to allow him more room. His two companions lost no time crowding in behind. "I am not so knowledgeable on matters of Lebrun's technique as Sébastien and Isabelle, but I recognize quality when I see it, and this, in my estimation, is not by the hand of some student or follower. Look only at the boldness of the strokes, the firmness of the touch. This is the master at work, confident in himself and in his genius. Would you agree, Sébastien?"

"First impressions only, I would say, yes, this has all the hallmarks one looks for in a Lebrun. The exuberant brushwork… the blurred edges… the fluid lines." He reached out a hand, and drew circles over the forest background with an extended finger. "Here and here, for example, notice how the clumps of leaves gradually shade into the billows of cloud, so the trees seem to transform by degrees into sky. That is characteristic of Lebrun's landscapes. Also, there is his particular handling of flowing drapery…"

He broke off at the involuntary gasp that had escaped Mme Auteuil, and, turning toward her, fixed her with a basilisk glare. "Struck by one of your crucial insights, Isabelle?" he said, with something very like a sneer. "Please, enlighten us. We are all ears."

Isabelle, her attention focused entirely on the lower right hand corner of the canvas, gave no sign of having heard. "Pardon," she said, addressing herself to Dr. Cummings, "Regnier's 1775 print reproduction of _La Coupe d'amour_ , do you know it? You have, perhaps, consulted it as part of your studies?"

Dr. Cummings looked a question at Baer, who responded, "We're aware of it, yes. There's a reference image of it in our file library. I can pull it up for you, if you'd like."

"I would be most grateful." While Baer busied himself at the conference room's vid-screen, Isabelle explained, "The print reproduction of Lebrun's painting is not faithful in all respects, and it has long been thought that Regnier, in creating his etching, made some insignificant changes with the artist's permission so as to have, in some small part, an image that was uniquely his own. The most obvious departure is here." She pointed to the lower right edge of the canvas. "Along the outer base of the fountain."

"In that area of our painting, you will see the artist's signature," Perrin weighed in.

"Precisely. In the print, however, the signature does not appear. It is replaced by what has, all this time, been thought to be a detail supplied by the printmaker's whimsy: a small, essentially unremarkable flowering plant."

Just at that moment, the room's oversized vid-screen brightened with the black and off-white version of Regnier's _Coupe d'amour_. Baer zoomed in on the area under discussion, and there, slavishly reproduced down to the sparse blossoms, single stem and flaccid leaves, was the unprepossessing plant of the painting before them. "My God," Baer breathed. "How did we miss this?"

"I did not see it at once, myself," Isabelle commiserated.

"To be fair," Bonnie said, speaking up for the first time. "we didn't know until earlier this week that the plant was even there. That section of the painting was almost completely obscured by soot. The digital photos we sent you were taken before cleaning, so the plant was practically invisible."

"I believe Regnier was also credited with imparting a more flowing look to the fountain waters," Beaumont volunteered, "but evidently he copied that from this painting as well."

"And yet," Perrin said, "in the main, the print reproduces our Lebrun in all important respects…"

"Which can only mean," Beaumont interrupted, "that Regnier had access to both paintings while they remained in Lebrun's studio. The print was made available to the public in 1775, remember, so he would have had to see them both before that date. I imagine he saw them side by side, and chose the details that suited him best, creating in the process a hybrid of this impressionistic work and the highly-finished painting Lebrun submitted to the Académie."

Perrin looked from the image on the vid-screen to the painting on the easel and back again. "Mon Dieu," he said again, shaking his head reverently. "Proof. Evidence incontrovertible." He turned and held out his hand to Cummings. "I felicitate you, mon ami. You have done the impossible. You have located a lost treasure of the patrimony of France. Incroyable!"

A/N: I apologize to faithful readers and reviewers for the delay in posting this installment. I was obliged to undergo surgery a week ago, and while I am recovering well, I had to let certain things slide for a time. To date, I have been trying to post a chapter every seven days, and with luck, I'll be able to resume that schedule. Thanks for your patience, and for reviewing.

Speaking of patience, I have been asked to estimate how long this story will end up being. All I can say is there are a number of subplots that need resolving, and none is especially close, so... quite long, is my guess!


	33. Chapter 33: Frictions

33\. Frictions

The Jeffersonian team felt deeply indebted to their French colleagues for their enthusiastic and unqualified support of their _Coupe d'amour_ 's authenticity, but, gratitude aside, the charms of the visiting trio soon began to pall.

The most irritating of the three was, unexpectedly, the usually irreproachable Henri Perrin. It soon became apparent that he had not been indulging in mere grandiloquence when he referred to the Jeff's painting as a "lost treasure of the patrimony of France." He had, astoundingly, taken it into his head that the masterpiece belonged, if not legally, at least on moral grounds to the French people, and should, the Jeff having been suitably compensated, be repatriated at once and permanently. When, unsurprisingly, Charles Cummings failed to fall in with this crack-brained perspective, Perrin began to fret quite vocally at being obliged to entrust so important a part of his country's cultural heritage to conservators who, not being French, could not possibly be expected to have the sensitivity and reverence Lebrun's compatriots would naturally bring to restoring his work. He was persuaded of Baer's qualifications and experience only with the greatest difficulty, and, as to Bonnie's having being allowed to treat the painted surface, he was scandalized beyond measure.

"Never, _never_ say so," he said, in horrified tones. "What can you have been thinking? She is the veriest child, a simple apprentice still refining her skills! It is madness! No, no! Here is what we must do: the C2MRF must second you Isabelle's services immediately. That is the only answer. It is an inconvenience, _certainement_ , but they will spare her only too willingly once they learn the stakes involved. With her years of training and practice, she will be of the utmost value to you. There is, as well, her thorough familiarity with our own _Coupe d'amour_ to recommend her. You know, of course, that she was part of the team that refreshed our painting some years ago."

Dr. Cummings had not been aware of this, but he did not let this information or Perrin's constant pestering sway him. Out of friendship, he made a few, small concessions: he solicited Perrin's opinion of the conservation treatment plan, listened gravely to his input, and adopted a number of his proposed changes. Cummings solemnly engaged, as well, to keep his French colleague minutely apprised of every step in the project's progress. Finally, he promised he would lobby the Institute to lend the refurbished _Coupe d'amour_ to the Louvre for an extended period, so that the two paintings, in all their similarities and differences, could be viewed together, side by side. This glorious prospect appeared to reconcile Perrin to the necessity of leaving the painting in Washington, and he settled to working with Cummings and the Jeffersonian PR staff on preparations for the joint press conference that would announce its miraculous resurfacing to the world.

As recognized experts endorsing the Jeffersonian's claims, Isabelle Auteuil and Sébastien Beaumont were also slated to participate in the press conference, but in the days leading up to the event, they nonetheless had sufficient leisure to pursue other activities. Isabelle, in her capacity as contributor to the renewal and stabilization of the Louvre's painting, felt a quasi-proprietorial interest in its fraternal twin, and showered Baer and Bonnie (but primarily the former) with a quantity of extremely useful, technical advice. With her guidance, they were able to complete the tricky solvent tests with less anxiety and far more speed than they'd anticipated, with the result that they found themselves in position to attack the varnish on all areas of the surface ahead of schedule. Bonnie, studying the older woman's smooth, assured manner, was frankly awed by her ability to be authoritative without condescension, assertive without disrespect. If, Bonnie thought, she could one day carry herself with Isabelle's composed, collegial demeanor, she would be very well pleased.

She was intent on treating her first patch of Prussian blue in the painting's crepuscular sky late one morning when Isabelle came up quietly to stand behind her chair in the largely deserted workroom. Acutely conscious of being observed and by so august a person into the bargain, Bonnie swabbed away the varnish residue with extra care and checked the cotton for smears of paint; mercifully, there were none.

" _Oui_ ," sounded Isabelle's voice from over her shoulder. "That is just the shade wanted: a dark, grayish blue. _Parfait_." She sighed, so faintly Bonnie could not be certain she hadn't imagined it. "I must confess to you, Bonnie, a quite powerful envy on my part."

"Envy, Madame?" Bonnie echoed, disbelieving. "Not of me, surely!"

"But yes, of you! What would I not have given when I was your age to be permitted to try my hand at cleaning _La Coupe d'amour_! It was not to be thought of, of course. As an intern, mine was a strictly supportive role, a glorified bottle washer, if you like. I wonder: do you have any idea just how fortunate you are in your chief and supervisor?"

Bonnie's thoughts flew at once to Bear, without whose intercession and backing she would at the moment be on the outside looking in. "Believe me, Madame, I am fully cognizant of how very much I owe them. Particularly Dr. Baer."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

To judge by her tone, Isabelle might as easily have been inquiring the time, but the question so jarred Bonnie, she dropped the brush she'd just reloaded with solvent into her lap. "What? No!" She snatched a towelette from a nearby dispenser, and catching up the brush, began to wipe the gel spatters from her lab coat. "Whatever made you…?" A terrible suspicion crossed her mind, and she blurted, "Wait! Are you suggesting in return for sexual favors…"

"Mais, pas du tout!" Isabelle broke in, soothingly. "I meant no insult! I am mortified to have expressed myself so badly, and do most sincerely beg your pardon. No, no, in my clumsy way, I was trying not to step on your shoes." Her exquisitely-shaped brows drew down in sudden uncertainty. "No, that is not quite the expression…"

" _Toes_ ," Bonnie supplied, wearily. "You didn't want to step on my _toes_."

"Ah, yes, exactly! Thank you. So… to be clear, there is no understanding between you? At least, not of the amorous sort?"

"None," Bonnie said, with, she hoped, convincing firmness. "Bear and I are colleagues, nothing more."

Isabelle smiled with delight, and leaning in confidentially, one girl to another, said, "Then, you will not mind if I report back that you have, regretfully, a previous engagement for lunch today, and will be unable to join us?"

Bonnie's stomach clenched so hard, the very thought of food repelled her. "Of course not, Madame." She did her best to muster an answering smile. "I hope you have a lovely time. Bon appétit."

It was small consolation that Sébastien Beaumont strolled into the workroom on the heels of Isabelle's departure. While the wheeler dealer had some time since ceased to be the beau ideal of French manhood, he had not lost the habit of grooming and dressing himself in the expectation of catching every female eye. He cut a very dashing figure in a pea green sport coat with contrasting turquoise stripes worn over a powder blue Oxford cloth shirt, open at the neck. Bonnie considered the white silk foulard knotted at his throat a tad excessive, but she knew it was the accessory du jour in Paris, and as such, a prerequisite for anyone aspiring to fashion. "Well, well, " he said, unhurriedly closing the distance between them. "My luck appears to be in at last! The beauteous Bonnie left unattended. You know, I had quite come to believe our good Dr. Baer had constituted himself guardian of your virtue."

Bonnie, still smarting from her encounter with Isabelle, was not in the mood for badinage, however witty. "You mistake, Monsieur," she replied tartly. "Dr. Baer does not in the least concern himself with my virtue." The words were no sooner uttered than she wished them unsaid, or, barring that, better chosen.

Beaumont, however, seemed enchanted with her answer. "That is the very best of news! But, I must protest this absurd formality of yours, Bonnie! 'Monsieur,' indeed. You make me sound some decrepit old-age pensioner when I am scarcely of an age to be your father. No, no! You must call me Sébastien. I insist."

"Very well," Bonnie conceded unenthusiastically. Then, suddenly abashed at behaving with the bad manners of a petulant child, she forced an accommodating smile to her lips. "Sébastien."

He bowed, as if she had conferred a singular honor upon him. "Now that we are friends, you must absolutely allow me to spirit you away to a charming little bistro I frequent whenever I am in town. They do an extraordinary bouillabaisse there, quite as delicious as any to be found in southern France."

At the thought of eating, Bonnie's stomach spasmed painfully. "I appreciate the offer, Sébastien, but…"

"Never tell me you cannot stop for a meal! _Vraiment_ , you Americans, with your puritanical bent for thinking work the highest good! You are most uncivilized. The pleasures of a good table are not to be despised…"

"Sébastien," Bonnie hastened to interrupt. "I'm as fond of fine cuisine as the next person, but just now…" She spread a hand over her ribs, and rubbed her rigid midsection. "I can't handle food."

"Ah!" Beaumont looked, initially, as much alarmed as concerned, but as she did not proceed to vomit all over his handmade leather shoes, he inclined more toward solicitude. "Is there something I can, perhaps, obtain for you? A glass of mineral water? Some herbal tea?"

"You are very kind, but no, thank you." In an effort to extricate herself from further conversation and speed him on his way, she continued, "May I take a raincheck? Say, tomorrow or the next day? I'm bound to be recovered by then."

His face lit up at the suggestion. "But of course! You have only to let me know the day — or days, _parbleu_! — that suit you. I await your command."

Bonnie nodded her acceptance of this amiable compromise, and, the bargain having been struck, fully expected Beaumont to take his leave, but he lingered instead, turning his attention away from her and to _La Coupe d'amour_. He stood a long, silent moment gazing at the painting, his eyes, as far as Bonnie could judge, never straying from the central female figure. "Do you suppose," he said at last, "that you will have stripped the varnish from that heavenly face before our departure? I would very much like a clearer view of those divine features."

"I'm afraid I really can't say," Bonnie told him, adding with sincere regret, "but I greatly doubt it."

"Do you know, even yellowed and clouded as she is, I already prefer her to the figure in the Louvre. I have always felt there is something too perfect, too chiseled about that face. A classical profile, yes, deliberately outlined in such as way as to evoke carved cameos, or marble bas reliefs, but cold like those objects as well, inhuman in her beauty. These features, on the other hand, have the round flesh, the rosy tint, the soft edges of a warm, living girl. There is a naiveté, a dewiness about her, too, that touches the heart. She radiates the innocence of youth that knows nothing yet of love but the wonder of its promise."

Beaumont's genuine and entirely unexpected tribute to their woman-child left Bonnie speechless for a time with surprise and admiration. She would not have supposed she could ever be in complete sympathy with any of Beaumont's views, but he had expressed, far more eloquently that she could have done, her very own feelings regarding Lebrun's two leading ladies. After a bit, she found the nerve to ask, "Would you happen to know anything about the girl, or woman, who posed for this painting? Anything at all?"

He turned a quizzical look on her. "What a very odd question. Why ever would you be interested in so trifling a detail?"

Bonnie felt the beginnings of a flush heat her cheeks, but she made herself persevere. "It's the pentimento, you see. I thought if I could discover some situation in Lebrun's personal life to explain the drastic change in composition, that information could be used to bolster our attribution."

"Ah! I believe I see! You are thinking the turning away of the male figure's head from the female's reflects a corresponding change of heart in Lebrun toward his model. He would have adored her at the beginning, and then, fallen out of love with her toward the end for some motive or other." His lips quirked up in half a smile, his eyes bright with amusement. "Such a romantic sensibility you hide beneath that cool, scientific exterior! No, no, don't deny it! I like you all the better for your tender heart. It makes a welcome change from the jaded women of my acquaintance.

"But I am sorry, no, a scenario such as you postulate is hardly plausible. It is far more likely she was some person of the lower orders, some servant or streetwalker supplementing her meager earnings by taking her clothes off for money. Given her freshness, she might, I grant you, have been some newly-arrived country girl only recently tumbled into the clutches of an enterprising procuress, but that would be the extent of the story. Heed my advice and drop that line of inquiry. Nothing of substance can come of it. Even should you succeed in putting a name to that face — a problematic enterprise at best — what will it avail you? A woman such as that is scarcely likely to have inspired a grand passion."

However reluctantly, Bonnie had to admit his characterization of late-eighteenth century studio models jibed with her own knowledge of the sordid practices of the era. Still, she could not quite let her theory go. "If not his model, then, perhaps it was another woman, someone of his own station, who disappointed him."

Beaumont laughed shortly. " _That_ , I would venture to say, is a practical certainty. What is more common for a young man in his twenties than to have his heart shattered by some _belle dame sans merci_? Lebrun would not have escaped his fair share of suffering. It has, after all, been the fate of men since Adam."

He subsided moodily into his own thoughts for a moment, and then, having assured her he very much looked forward to their meeting again on the morrow, wished her good day. Bonnie, watching him go, was glad she had resisted the urge to ask if he spoke from personal experience. She thought, in any event, the answer was obvious enough.


	34. Chapter 34: Source

34\. Source

Bonnie's appetite was still far from hearty when Sébastien next appeared in the workroom. She had been obliged to spend the morning watching Bear and Isabelle put their heads together all too literally as they evaluated the painting's treatment to date and discussed its prosecution going forward. Encouraged by the results, Bear was in favor of keeping to Cummings' plan to remove the entire layer of disfiguring varnish, while Isabelle, clearly a proponent of the "less is more" school of conservation, argued for a minimalist, more selective approach, even to the point of leaving the bright pigments entirely untouched. "We know the colors do not dim equally over time. The dark shades grow more murky, while the light pigments retain much of their brilliance. If the surface is stripped uniformly, there is a risk of the relationship of values being thrown off." Always minded, herself, to err on the side of caution, Bonnie was completely on Isabelle's side of the matter, but, intent as they were on each other and relegated as she was to mixing up more solvent gel some little distance away, it occurred to neither Bear nor Isabelle to ask her opinion.

By the time Sébastien made his entrance, Isabelle had more or less talked Bear round to her way of thinking, and harmony reigned again in the workroom. Sébastien saluted the company at large, and making his way over to Baer and Isabelle, held a cordial hand out to each of them in turn. "Bonjour, bonjour!" he said, in evident high spirits. "Making good progress? Yes? Excellent!" He looked about him expectantly, and, catching sight of Bonnie recapping and returning the jars of chemicals she'd been using to their cabinet, called out, "Ah! There you are! No, no, take your time, my dear! Don't rush on my account. I'm running early in any case."

Isabelle, a slim hip propped against a table, crossed her legs at the ankle and her arms across her chest. "You are taking Bonnie out to lunch?"

"There is simply no deceiving you, Isabelle! Yes, as you have so cleverly deduced, Bonnie has kindly agreed to dine with me. I have booked a cozy table for two at Le Bistro Max. They make a fish stew there even a French grandmother would love. I am very much looking forward to it."

Isabelle raised a hand to her face, and tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "Do you know, I don't believe I saw bouillabaisse on the menu when we were there yesterday. Do you, Rudolph?" At Baer's apologetic shrug, she continued off-handedly, "I may well be mistaken. I am not so fond of stew, _moi_. However that may be, I can assure you the meal was very enjoyable, although, upon reflection…" She slanted an arch look in Baer's direction, "that may have been more a function of the company than the food."

Bonnie, having folded her lab coat over her chair back and come up to join Sébastien, saw his jaw set hard, the muscle flexed. "I'm delighted to know you found all to your liking."

"I could not have asked for better! And you mustn't despair if they no longer serve your very favorite dish, Sébastien. I noticed they do offer steak tartare, and I know how greatly you relish a well-seasoned mound of raw beef."

"In fact," Sébastien said, something like a growl in his voice, "I cannot abide it."

"Is that so? How very strange! I could have sworn…" She shrugged carelessly. "I must have had someone else in mind."

"You generally do."

Isabelle lifted her chin, and met his glare unwaveringly. Bonnie, uncomfortably reminded of her parents' fierce staring matches, moved to intervene. "I'm ready to go, Sébastien."

He shot her a started glance, as if he had quite forgotten his reason for being there. "Ah, so you are! How wonderfully prompt! We'll be off, then," he announced by way of a general good-bye. "But one thing, if I may, before we go, Baer. I've a mind to look in at Doyle's after lunch. They have a number of interesting lots going under the hammer on Saturday, and, as promising as the paintings look in the auction catalog, there's no substitute for inspecting the actual, physical objects. The showroom's in Georgetown, just a short walk from the restaurant, so it would be convenient to stop in on the way back, but if you cannot do without Bonnie for so long, I can postpone my visit until later in the day."

"That's not necessary, Sébastien," Bonnie was quick to point out. "I can catch a cab back."

"But you _must_ go!" Isabelle said with great decision. "You have been working so very hard, so diligently! You deserve a break, if only to clear your head of the noxious fumes you have breathed in all morning." She turned to appeal directly to Baer. "You can spare her for a few hours, can you not, Rudolph? The work need not suffer, after all. I am willing to undertake any of the chores you had scheduled for Bonnie this afternoon. Indeed, I would consider it a treat to be allowed a turn at cleaning. Please say you agree!"

Bear cast a troubled look from Isabelle's hopeful face to Sébastien's, and finally settled a searching gaze on Bonnie. She pleaded as best she could with her eyes, mentally willing him to insist, as regretfully as he liked, on her returning to work with the greatest despatch possible, but in the end, though she'd been momentarily reassured by the understanding in his eyes, he proved unable to resist Isabelle's moue of entreaty. "Fine," he said, his tone belying the spoken word. "Just remember, Miss Booth-Hodgins, PR wants to see you before the end of the day, and I have to speak with you before you meet with them."

As they exited the room with Sébastien's hand lightly pressed to the small of her back, Bonnie anticipated with dread having to listen to a lengthy explanation of the scene he and Isabelle had enacted, but to her relief, he made no reference to it whatsoever. Instead, he bent his considerable energies to proving himself the most attentive, most generous, most agreeable of lunch dates. Bonnie might have enjoyed his conversation more if it had been less larded with the names of his famous contacts and clients, accounts of his professional coups, and passing mentions of his real estate holdings, which included, in addition to his apartment in Paris, a villa in St. Tropez and a manor house on the outskirts of Tours. If he tended irresistibly toward self-absorption and boasting, he was nonetheless very entertaining when recounting his adventures sleuthing in the art world, and his skill as a raconteur largely reconciled Bonnie to his conversational shortcomings.

"You have more than enough material for a book," she enthused, as their waiter collected the deep, round bowls empty now but for the merest traces of a truly memorable bouillabaisse. "You'd have a best-seller on your hands for sure. You could call it 'Forgers and other Flim Flam Artists I Have Known.' "

Sébastien laughed. "A very fitting title! I might have to write the book if only to use it! But, do you really think there's a market for such stories?"

"I do! Everyone likes a good mystery, and yours have added interest because you actually lived them. I know _I'd_ buy a copy."

Sebastien smiled with genuine pleasure, and at the emergence of his dimples, Bonnie caught a fleeting glimpse of the breathtaking young man he must once have been. He took his wine glass in hand, and raising it, saluted her. "Bonnie Booth-Hodgins, you are a very good sort of girl." He downed a healthy swig, and then, replacing the glass on the table, added somewhat ruefully, "It's a pity you're not French."

Bonnie was too amused to be offended. "I have often wished I were," she said, diplomatically. "I have the greatest respect and admiration for the French, and all the many contributions your country has made to the world."

She might have saved her breath as it was obvious from the frown creasing his brow that he was following some train of thought all his own. She happily left him to it, and devoted herself to sipping what remained of her delicious Chablis. At long last, the knit brows parted, and he beamed at her as if a light bulb had switched on behind his eyes. "I have it!" he announced triumphantly. "The very thing! You must apply for the Louvre Fellowship! Not only will it be the making of your career, but it will afford you the opportunity to live many months in France! It is a heavily contested opportunity, yes," he rolled on, anticipating her objection, "but that need not concern you. I am personally acquainted with several members of the selection committee, Henri Perrin among them, and a certain Marquise de Sancerre as well who owes me a very large favor, it being I who introduced her to her noble husband. Yes, you may leave it all to me! A word in this one's ear, a small hint to another, et voilà!" He brushed his palms together in brisk satisfaction. "The thing is done! No, no, do not thank me! I am only too happy to smooth your way."

Having fixed it in his mind over Bonnie's protestations that she would, before long, be taking up residence in Paris, Sébastien filled the quarter hour required to walk from the bistro to the auction house enumerating the many pleasures the future held in store for her, as she must assuredly allow him to show her over his country estate, or take her sailing on his private yacht, or fly her down to Monte Carlo for a weekend's gambling. He invited her to treat his gallery as if it were her own, and pledged to make her known to all the most influential persons in the local fine arts community. Bonnie's head might easily have been turned by such glittering prospects, but as she credited them with no more substance than any other fantastic castle in Spain, she listened politely and believed not a word.

They had no sooner crossed the threshold into Doyle's showroom than Bonnie felt she had stepped into a treasure vault of beautiful objects. Tall glass cases glinting with vintage silver, antique jewelry and porcelain bibelots marched the length of one wall while on the other, hundreds of framed oil paintings of various sizes hung cheek by jowl from floorboard to ceiling. The center of the long room was crowded with finely-wrought cabinets, chairs and tables, many of them topped with luminous Tiffany-style lamps and elegant bronze sculptures. Wherever she looked, her eye lit on a masterful piece of art or craftsmanship, and she might have blessed Isabelle for insisting she be allowed this short side trip if not for the galling suspicion that the Frenchwoman was even now taking full advantage of her absence.

The visit having, apparently, been expected, a Doyle representative immediately materialized before them, and if the neat and proper gentleman did not precisely fawn over Sébastien, he nevertheless greeted him with the respect and cordiality due a highly-valued client. Bonnie's presence appeared to discomfit him, however, and he turned to Sébastien apologetically. "We've transferred the paintings you wanted to examine to the viewing room, but it's too small a space, I'm afraid, to accommodate three people."

Sébastien did not hesitate. "In that case, I will simply escort my young friend back…"

"No, Sébastien, honestly," Bonnie protested, "there's not the slightest need. I can easily amuse myself out here for a while." She gestured to the embarrassment of riches arrayed all around her. "There's such a lot to see."

"You really don't mind?" he pressed.

Reassured on that point, he promised not to keep her waiting any longer than absolutely necessary and allowed himself to be led away. Bonnie, more glad than not to be relieved of Sébastien's somewhat trying company, wandered the premises idly at first, stopping frequently for a closer look at some object d'art that jumped out at her, but finally, she was drawn by professional curiosity to the miscellany of landscapes, still lifes and portraits that covered nearly every inch of one olive-drab wall. She walked its length at her gallery pace, trying to give each picture its fair share of attention, stepping back to take in the larger pieces, leaning in to view the small. They varied enormously in quality, from the merely competent to the magisterial, and included, much to Bonnie's surprise, a number of paintings by recognized masters, with auction estimates that made her eyes go wide.

Eventually, she came to a section with two rectangles of blank wall mixed in among the canvases, and realized she had reached the spot where the lots Sébastien was inspecting would normally hang. He had confided they were French Rococo paintings, both rather risqué scenes which the catalogue identified as "after François Boucher," but which Sébastien suspected might be by the hand of the master himself. Most of the paintings surrounding the empty spaces were, similarly, richly-colored scenes peopled by couples in various stages of undress disporting themselves against a luxuriant natural backdrop or wildly disordered bedchamber, with a few less provocative portraits thrown in. Bonnie gave each one of these in turn her full consideration, pausing, in an effort to educate herself and continue to train her eye, to consult the description accompanying each lot. She had looked over and was about to pass on from an unremarkable, if picturesque, landscape of classical ruins by moonlight when she was brought up short by the signature that could just barely be made out against the shadowed foreground: Blanchard. Turning quickly to the description, she read: Eugène Blanchard, _Rome au clair de lune_ , 1773.

So enthralled was she by her discovery, she did not notice Sébastien's approach until he had come up beside her. "Find a hidden treasure?"

"Oh, Sébastien!" she said, turning to him eagerly and going so far in her excitement as to grip his forearm. "Look! Right there! A painting by Eugène Blanchard!"

"Yes…" he said, in the careful tone generally used to conciliate possible lunatics. "So I see." He gently disengaged his sleeve from her clutching fingers, and smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric. "You really do have the oddest enthusiasms, my dear. Blanchard is very well in his way — I don't say otherwise — but, as a painter, he is at best a middling talent. Certainly not, in my view, an artist to inspire such ecstasy."

"Oh, on that score, I completely agree! It's not the painting itself that's blown me away, but the coincidence of finding it here. Blanchard was Lebrun's close friend, you see, and may have played a crucial role in the creation of _La Coupe d'amour_. I've been trying to find out more about the man, but so far, I haven't had much luck."

Sébastien lips curved up in a slow, superior smile. "Well, look no further. I can tell you quite a bit about old Eugène." He crooked out his arm, and when she had threaded hers about his, directed their steps toward the door. "Where would you like me to start?"


	35. Chapter 35: Blanchards

35\. Blanchards

According to Sébastien, one of the more unfortunate aspects of his celebrity was the constant influx of invitations from individuals who sought to increase their social cachet by producing him as a guest at some gathering or event in their homes. He did not, of course, encourage such people, but it was not always possible, in advance, to distinguish parasites from congenial company, and he was sometimes fooled into mistaking one for the other. It had been one of these errors, some years before, that had condemned him to a hellish weekend house party at the chateau of Étienne Blanchard, direct and insufferably proud descendent of Eugène.

Not only had he suffered the indignity of being paraded before Blanchard's friends and neighbors like some prize bull, he had been obliged as well to endure the man's interminable extolling of his family's contributions down the centuries to the political, military and artistic glory of France. Blanchard had insisted on "treating" Sébastien to a private tour of his extensive art holdings which proved, in the occurrence, to include numerous sketches, water colors, oil paintings and sculptures, all signed in a variety of hands but invariably inscribed with the same last name.

"You are likely aware," Étienne said, with intolerable condescension, "that, in noble families, the first-born son inherits the lands and title, leaving his younger brothers to make their own way in the world. Traditionally, the second-born son pursued a career in the military while the third was consecrated to the church. We Blanchards, however, have never been hide-bound by convention. Our youngest sons, and their sisters as well, have always been encouraged to devote themselves to the arts, with the results that you see all around you. In some generations, it is painting and sculpture, in others, poetry, philosophy, and fiction. I, myself, when my duties allow, dabble in historical research, with a particular focus on the immediate vicinity and my family's doings here. Indeed, while not as skilled a writer as some of my ancestors, I have begun to set the information down for my children and grandchildren's edification."

Of all his forbears, Blanchard waxed particularly eloquent on the subject of his many-times great-grandfather Eugène. One long room of the chateau had been converted into a gallery of sorts entirely dedicated to his favorite's output, and it was there Blanchard had held Sébastien prisoner for what seemed an eternity, expiating on Eugène's many fine qualities as a man and artist. "Being a connoisseur yourself, you will have discerned, I am sure, that Eugène is by far the most gifted painter the family has yet produced. With his talent, he would, inevitably, have accomplished great things, had he not been forced by his brothers' untimely demise to renounce his art and take up the burdens of his father's rights and responsibilities. I feel strongly that, given more time for his skills and aesthetic sensibility to mature, he would have rivaled the acknowledged masters of the day, not excepting his erstwhile friend Lebrun. Would you not agree?"

The genius which might, but for the vagaries of fate, have been expressed through Eugène's artwork was channeled instead into ably stewarding the family fortunes through the unsettled years leading up to and through the French Revolution. He married suitably, sired three lusty sons to secure the succession, and left the estate at his death more prosperous than he'd found it upon assuming the title. A conscientious man, he had fulfilled his manifold duties admirably, and had ever comported himself as a true gentleman, which, in that era, had not precluded setting up a mistress purely for pleasure. Having wed for position, Eugène kept the purported wife of one of his tenant farmers for love, and had fathered another son and a daughter with her. This being the one detail about Eugène that struck Sébastien as mildly interesting, he had asked Étienne how he could be sure of this.

"It's a story that's been passed down through the generations, and, as supporting evidence, there's his last will and testament. In that document, he bequeaths a princely sum to a certain Madeleine Lavallière, the long-time widow of an estate tenant who was already elderly when she married him shortly upon arriving in the county. What is more, the farmhouse and the land pertaining to it were left, free and clear, to her son, and provision in the form of a dowry made for her daughter. The reasons for such generosity must be obvious."

Sébastien had occasion to remember the name Lavallière when, not long before, it had been mentioned by his second-in-command in conjunction with an inquiry that had come in to the gallery. A woman by that name had called in to report that during the extensive renovation currently under way at her family's eighteenth-century farmhouse, a cache of oil paintings had been discovered in a locked closet tucked into one end of the attic. The room's existence had not been a secret, but as the key had been missing forever and the space behind the door was deemed too small to hold much of value, no one had ever gone to the effort of ascertaining its contents. It was only by virtue of the door's being breached as part of the on-going demolition that the room's unsuspected treasure had once again seen the light of day.

"The find consists of a dozen moderately-sized canvases, unframed and unsigned, but dated on the back with years ranging from 1778 to 1790. Given the time frame and the Lavallières' alleged blood-connection to the Blanchards, husband and wife leapt to the conclusion that they'd stumbled upon unknown works by illustrious forefather Eugène, and they were keen to have me, or a representative of the gallery, make the trip into Picardie to certify their claim."

Bonnie, who'd had neither the inclination nor much opportunity to interrupt before, felt the need to specify, "Was it the same farmhouse Blanchard had deeded to his supposedly illegitimate son?"

"The very one. Now, the weekend at the Baron's had left such a bad taste in my mouth that even years later I wanted nothing to do with any Blanchards, living or dead. I was firmly opposed to accepting the commission, but Armand, my trusted assistant, was seduced by the romance of the story, and kept at me to give the paintings at least a cursory look. As a compromise measure, I authorized Armand to inform the Lavallières that we could not commit ourselves to a visit without something more to go on, and instructed them to forward us digital photos of, if not all the paintings, no fewer than six, which they promptly did."

"And…?" Bonnie prompted in her impatience. "Could you tell anything from them? Did they look like his work?"

Sébastien nodded. "The style, technique, level of mastery were all consistent with those I had been compelled to study _chez le Baron_. As regards quality, they were not dissimilar to the landscape we saw just now in the auction room: decorative, workmanlike, pleasing to the eye, but in no way exceptional. Still, our curiosity had been piqued, so we drove out to the farmhouse to examine the whole lot, and saw enough characteristic elements to be able to give as our considered opinion that the paintings could, indeed, be attributed with fair certainty to Eugène Blanchard.

"You ought to have seen that couple dance for joy, Bonnie! Anyone would have thought they had just won the national lottery! They had been imagining a gargantuan windfall, you see, some figure in the millions or tens of millions, for all I know! As if paintings by their ancestor would realize at auction as much as a new-to-the-market Van Gogh, or Picasso! When they heard our more rational estimate of the paintings' value, they accused us of trying to swindle them out of a fortune, and escorted us unceremoniously off the premises." He shrugged, unperturbed. "I wish them luck finding a buyer to pay their prices."

Bonnie, as captivated by the story as Armand, had been anticipating a grand finish, and was left feeling a trifle flat by this unsatisfying denouement. "How rotten for you, after all your time and trouble!"

"They did me a service, rather. What with having the paintings cleaned, framed, and advertised for sale, taking them on would hardly have been worth my while, commercially-speaking."

This eminently practical view did not reconcile Bonnie to what seemed to her a lost opportunity. "Well, for my part, I'm sorry you weren't able to buy them. If you had them in your gallery, I'd have the chance to see them. Were they mostly landscapes, do you remember?"

"I don't know what you expect to learn from them," Sébastien said, ignoring her question, "But if you want a look, you have only to say so! At least, I cannot show you all twelve paintings, but Armand will not have trashed the six digital photos we received from the Lavallières. If you like, I can instruct him to send the file to my tablet, and you can pour over the images to your heart's content."

Bonnie spun toward him, and lay a grateful hand on his forearm. "That would be wonderful, Sébastien. Thank you!"

He patted her hand gently, like some kindly favorite uncle. "Consider it done. And now, I had better escort you to the workroom and interpose my gallant self between you and Baer's almost certain wrath."

Bonnie was suddenly chagrined to realize she had, in her absorption, never once thought to check the time. "Are we very late?"

"Oh, yes. Undoubtedly."

When, a short while later, they found Bear behind his office desk, he was every bit as dark-visaged as Sébastien had foreseen. "I've had to put PR off until tomorrow," he growled by way of greeting.

Faithful to his promise, Sébastien stepped up, shielding Bonnie both with his body and his words. "I take full responsibility for our tardiness," he said, in manly fashion. "Bonnie is in no way to blame. The fact is, when inspecting a painting, l tend to lose all track of time. Sincere apologies, _mon vieux_."

Bear regarded him with undiminished disfavor. "There's not much time left in the day, but it might be just enough to get something accomplished, if you wouldn't mind…?"

"Say no more," Sébastien entreated, throwing his hands palms up in surrender. "I have been a sore inconvenience to you and will take myself off straightaway." He turned to go, but paused on his past to smile down at Bonnie. "Thank you for a truly enchanting afternoon, my dear. As soon as I hear back about that mattered we discussed, I will tell you."

He held out a hand in farewell, and Bonnie put her own into it. "Thank you, Sébastien," she said warmly. "For that, and, well… for everything."

"If you could speed up the fond good-byes, Miss Booth-Hodgins!"

With a last commiserating look, Sébastien raised her hand to his lips, saluted her fingers, and was gone. Bonnie, left alone, turned to face the brunt of Bear's displeasure. "I'm sorry…" she began, with real contrition.

"Save it," Bear said brusquely. An instant later, he puffed out a breath and eyed her ruefully. "Sorry. It wasn't your fault, I know. Let's start again." He motioned her to a chair. When she had lowered herself onto the edge of her seat, he resumed more evenly, "I wanted to talk to you about the videos PR is producing to air on the Institute web channel following Friday's presser. Naturally, they anticipate the announcement will generate a lot of buzz, and they want to capitalize on that to promote what we do here at the Jeff, with the end game being, of course, to entice more people into the museums and encourage sizable donations."

Bonnie could appreciate the shrewdness of such a campaign. "So we'll be sitting for interviews about _La Coupe d'amour_?"

"That's about the size of it. Get ready for hard-hitting questions like 'Just how _exciting_ is it for a conservator as young as yourself to work on such an important painting?' or 'Take us through discovering the pentimento. How did that _feel_?' "

Bonnie had to smile at Bear's parody of a gushing interviewer. "I think I can handle that."

"There's more. They're going to ask you about what's next in the treatment plan, so let me lay that out for you. You're familiar with the Institute's Conservation Station?"

She nodded. "The current exhibit is about repairing and restoring antique violins."

"Right. It's scheduled to run through the end of the month, but they're going to be packing up a day or two early, so we can move _La Coupe d'amour_ down to the public studio and get our supplies and equipment installed."

This development came as something of a shock to Bonnie. She had not heard so much as the whisper of a rumor regarding such a change. "We'll be treating the painting outside the workroom? With visitors watching?"

"Watching, and interacting with us, too, during certain hours of the day. It's all about striking while the iron is hot. The painting's going to be big news, and, the hope is, a big draw as well. If people are made to wait to see it until treatment's been completed, they may lose interest, and a golden opportunity to bump up attendance will be wasted. At least, that's how Cummings and the Institute Board see it."

As a promotional ploy, it was, Bonnie had to admit, a clever scheme, and very likely to succeed in its object. "I understand the advantages of opening our process up to the public, but what I don't see is why _I_ should be the one to make the announcement. Wouldn't it be better coming from you? You know so much more about it."

Bear fixed her with a long, steady look, half disbelief and half wonder. "Don't you ever look in the mirror?"

"Of course, but…"

"What's more likely to bring in the crowds, a beautiful painting and its equally stunning conservator, or the same painting and a guy with a mug like mine?"

Bonnie could take little away from that question beyond the intimation that Bear thought her beautiful. Surprised, flustered and painfully self-conscious, she could only stammer, "You have a… a perfectly nice face."

He barked out a laugh, and shook his head at her. "Suffice it to say, PR doesn't share your opinion. Anyway, all you have to do is talk up the Conservation Station in a general way, and mention that for more details people can visit the Institute web site. Any questions?"

None came immediately to mind, or none that concerned the upcoming interview at least. "No, I think I'm all set for now. I would like to know, though…" She hesitated, not wanting to appear ungracious, but anxiety impelled her. "Did Isabelle make much progress on the cleaning?"

"Isabelle?" Bear seemed momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in topic, but recovered quickly. "She made a little headway on the cloud bank in the upper left corner. Maybe a square inch, inch and a half? She might have managed more, but PR pulled her away." He smiled knowingly. "Feeling jealous?"

She nodded, shamefaced. "I know it's not actually _our_ painting, but that's how it feels, and I don't want share it, even with someone as skilled and accomplished as Isabelle." She regarded him with a penitence that was only partly playful. "Does that make me a bad person?"

He shook his head indulgently. "It makes you human, Bonnie. Welcome to the club."


	36. Chapter 36: Warning

36\. Warning

"Speaking of our French colleagues…"

Bonnie, thinking the meeting at an end, had half-risen to her feet, but at Bear's words, she settled back down.

Having begun, however, Bear seemed reluctant to go on. He eyed her somberly, his expression troubled. "This is none of my business, I know, but I think you should be aware… Beaumont… He's not what he makes himself out to be. He's all charm and friendliness on the surface, but, if half of what Isabelle's been telling me is true, he can't be trusted. Around women, I mean. He's a… _playboy_ , I guess, is the nicest word for him."

Bonnie was touched by Bear's evident but unnecessary concern. "Sébastien's an awful flirt, and I don't doubt he'd like to pass for a ladykiller, but I don't get the sense his heart's in the seduction game. He may have had libertine tendencies in the past, or even now with other women, but he hasn't tried anything with me, and I honestly don't expect he will."

"But, that could be _exactly_ what he wants you to think. What better way to get you to let down your guard with him? You may be right: the man may have only the best of intentions toward you, but he's got a damning track record, Bonnie, and you shouldn't lose sight of that."

Bonnie did not think she was deceived as to Sébastien's basic harmlessness, and was even more suspicious of the dread character Bear gave him when she considered the source informing it. The constant sniping between Isabelle and Sébastien, the awkward scene they'd enacted earlier in the day, these suddenly took on new meaning. "I take it Sébastien and Isabelle have history?"

Bear nodded grimly. "She's a very private person, and really hated bringing up the past, but she felt she had to, under the circumstances. She couldn't stand by and let you get hurt if she could prevent it."

Unaccountably, Isabelle's solicitude on her behalf, far from endearing her to Bonnie, grated on her nerves. "I'm sure I'm obliged to Isabelle for the warming," she said, purely for form's sake, "but you can assure her for me that I'm perfectly capable of dealing with unwanted advances. In fact, if Sébastien steps out of line, he'll find he very much regrets it."

Bear's slight smile betrayed more than a hint of amusement. "What, do you take kick-boxing lessons in your spare time, or is karate more your style?"

She raised her chin and looked down her nose at him. "You may laugh, but the truth is I've been trained in no fewer than three martial arts. My grandmother insisted on it. She learned the importance of self-defense the hard way, and she never let me forget it. I may not look the part, but I can do serious damage if I need to protect myself, and, believe me, I won't hesitate to do so."

Bear's heavy brows lifted in appreciation and perhaps newfound respect. "Whoa! Looks like Beaumont's in need of a heads-up as much, or more, than you! You make me almost pity the guy. Almost," he repeated darkly. "Look, I don't doubt you believe you could fight the man off, but the best thing, to my way of thinking, is not to let it ever come to that. I'm not saying avoid the man altogether, but, at the very least, don't let him lure you off on some pretext or other, all right?"

Bonnie was tempted to persist in dismissing Sébastien as any sort of potential threat, but in the end, simply to have done with the pointless discussion, she decided to humor Bear. "I'll be super careful," she promised. Once again, she prepared to rise, but then thought better of it. "Is there anything else?"

She was gratified by a nod. "One last thing. About Rose Mundy's private view tomorrow night: I've changed my mind. I'll be going after all."

"Oh!" All the irritation engendered by the previous topic gave way to a rush of delight. She was relieved now that all her attempts to find another taker for the invitation had failed. As her best friend and a slight acquaintance of Madame Vincent, Trev had been her first choice, but it turned out he had an office function he could not get out of. Not only did he refuse, regretfully, to accompany her, he tried to argue her into ditching the event in favor of attending his own. She next thought the glamorous art show might be just the venue for spending some quality girl-time with Vanna, but when she finally got her on the phone, it was only to discover that Trev had beat her to the punch. As for Eddie, her third and final option, she was still waiting, with ever diminishing hope, for a return call or text. "That's great! I have the invitation at my workstation. I'll just get it for…"

He held up a hand to stop her. "Thanks, but I won't be needing it. I'm going with Isabelle. As a favor," he hastened to add. "She's been feeling a bit lost and far from home, and was talking, kind of sadly, about skipping the show completely rather than go and feel alone in the crowd so I volunteered to escort her." He shrugged somewhat helplessly. "She's a guest of the department, and has really put herself out to help us. I feel it's the least I can do."

"Of course," Bonnie said, hiding her disappointment behind her best bright front. "Absolutely!" She tried a short, merry laugh. "And they say chivalry is dead!"

Bear took no notice of her playful thrust. "I didn't want to just turn up at the gallery without explaining first. Given how adamant I was, before, about not going, I think I owed you that."

"Yes, well…" Bonnie rose quickly, and fixed a smile on her face. "That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you. I hope you and Isabelle have a very nice time." She was about to add that Madame would be so pleased, but was able to stop babbling in time. "So… that was the last thing, right?" At his nod, she hurried on, "Okay, then. G'night. See you tomorrow."

She did not wait for a reply, but turned rapidly toward the door, and was so precipitate in her exit she would certainly have collided with Isabelle had the older woman not stepped nimbly out of her way.

"Such haste!" Isabelle said, with a forbearing chuckle as Bonnie, with a quick apology, tried to brush past. "He must be very special, this lover you are dashing off to meet!"

Bonnie, not trusting herself to speak, made no reply to this sally, and walked swiftly on. She did not so much as turn as, from behind her, Isabelle called out on a faintly puzzled note, "Bonne soirée!"

Bonnie did _not_ have a good evening, although she was momentarily cheered when she saw her cousin's name pop up on her vid-screen. "Eddie," she cried happily, as his handsome face came into view. "I was _this_ close to giving up on you! You'd better just be coming back from some out-of-the-country black ops mission, 'cause that's about the only excuse I'm going to accept for being kept dangling so long!"

Eddie grimaced contritely. "You know how I operate, Tootsie Pop: always leave the bearing of bad news to the last possible minute."

"Oh, Eddie, no! Are you seriously calling to say you can't make it tomorrow night? I was really counting on you."

"And I wouldn't leave you in the lurch if I could help it, Bonbon, you know that. Thing is, I've got a non-negotiable previous commitment."

"Let me guess." Her voice sounded sour to her own ears, but she was in no mood to sweeten it. "You've got a hot and heavy date with Val."

His fine features drew down in confusion. "Who?"

"Valeria Dunbar? You know, the leggy blond divorcée you've been squiring all over town?"

The clouds vanished from his brow, leaving him all sunny comprehension. "Oh, _that_ Val. Yeah, no, that job's finished."

Bonnie's ears perked up sharply. " _Job_ , Eddie? Is that what you said? Val was some kind of 'job' for you?"

"What? No," he protested. "What do you take me for, some sleazy gumshoe? I misspoke, is all. I meant to say… ah… 'escapade.' No, better make that 'episode.' "

"Oh, give it up, Eddie! The cat's out of the bag, so you might as well come clean. Grandpa asked you to check her out, didn't he?"

Eddie opened his mouth with the plain intention of fobbing her off some more, but after a moment meeting her uncompromising stare, he caved. "All right," he conceded. "You got me. I'll give you the whole lowdown, but you've got to promise you won't let on I told you. Not by word or deed, got it? Gramps will give me hell if he finds out."

"The old meddler," Bonnie grumbled, not quite under her breath. "Okay, it's a deal. Now spill."

He inhaled a long, resigned breath. "I don't have to tell you Gramps has always been hyper sensitive about kids at risk in the custody of neglectful or abusive parents. So, it'll come as no surprise that when you told him about Val's leaving Danny to the care of a complete stranger, his gut went on full alert, and he had to make sure, for his own peace of mind, that the boy wasn't in a bad situation. Like you said, he called and asked me to look into it. Nothing too involved: a little surveillance, a few casual conversations with the neighbors, that sort of thing."

"You were already 'on the case' the night of my class' art show, weren't you? I _knew_ you were up to something when you turned up in disguise! What I don't get, though, is how you knew Val was going to be there. I was sure as heck amazed to see her."

"That was a stroke of luck, pure and simple. My only objective that night was to serve as Gramps' proxy and bid your paintings up to a predetermined dollar amount. The get-up and role-play was my way of injecting a little fun into what I expected would be a fairly dull evening — no offense!"

"None taken. What about the video you were shooting with the camera glasses?"

"That was for Gramps, too, a way for him to enjoy the show without the physical inconvenience. Turns out, he got the added benefit of a good look at the subject of our investigation. That was an unexpected bonus."

"Not to mention you suddenly having an 'in' with the subject, as you call her."

"Yeah, the opportunity kind of just fell into my lap, and I went with it. By the time we parted company, Val was dropping none-too-subtle hints about wanting to see me again…"

"There's a shocker."

He frowned repressively. "… so, I invited her out to lunch the next day. Long story short, we saw each other, off and on, for a little over a month."

Val Dunbar was not one of Bonnie's favorite people, and she would have been chagrined to learn that Eddie had genuinely succumbed to her questionable charms, but she thought, on the whole, she would have preferred that version of events to the one Eddie laid out for her. Val might have any number of faults and shortcomings, but she did not, on that account, deserve to be played, or have her feelings toyed with. "That's… _low,_ Eddie, stringing Val along like that. I understand it was all in a good cause, but that doesn't make it right."

He pinned her with a steely look. "And _that_ attitude right there is the reason I never tell you what I'm up to. Look," he continued, in a placatory tone, "I admit I wasn't straight with the woman, but, as cons go, it was fairly tame stuff. I didn't lead her down any garden path. She knew from the start I wasn't looking for more than good times and a few laughs, and that's what we had. I didn't steal her heart or anything."

Bonnie had long known her cousin was no boy scout, but she knew, equally, there was no real malice in him. He didn't hurt people if he could help it, at least not intentionally. "I hope you're right," she said on a sigh.

"Bank on it. Anyway, I've reported my observations to Gramps, so I probably won't be seeing much of Val going forward."

"And…" Bonnie prompted, when he said no more. "What did you find out?"

Eddie cocked a mocking eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to know? The intel was gathered under false pretenses, after all." He watched the shot hit home, then, with a satisfied nod, relented. "Let's put it this way: she's never going to win 'Mother of the Year,' but she's a good-enough parent. She tries to do the right thing by Danny, but she's having to make this mothering gig up as she goes along, and she isn't always sure what to do. She'd have an easier time of it, I think, if Danny was your typical kid, but he's got that old-beyond-his-years thing going, and that seems to throw her off her stride. Sometimes, when I watched them together, I'd get the distinct impression _he_ was taking care of _her_ , instead of the other way around. So, yeah, the vibe was definitely a bit dysfunctional, but what family isn't to some degree, right? The important thing to know was whether Danny was in a safe, loving environment, and I saw plenty of proof of that."

Bonnie blew out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "That's a weight off my mind, Eddie. Thanks for telling me. And, I'm sorry for coming down so hard on you before. I know you're basically a stand-up guy."

"And I know you're a goody two-shoes, cuz, so I make allowances. Well, got to run. Another caper to plan. You have a good time without me tomorrow night."

"And you stay out of trouble."

His face split in a wicked grin. "Not a chance."


	37. Chapter 37: Connections

37\. Connections

Bonnie stood in the women's washroom and studied her reflection in the full length mirror. The simple black jersey dress with its fitted bodice, cap sleeves and circle skirt had served her well over the course of her workday, especially with the additional volume and pop of color provided by the brightly-striped and fringed linen wrap she wore loosely coiled around her neck, but it was not a look she could carry over into the evening's invitation-only art show. A transformation was in order, and she began by unwinding the yards of gaudy fabric and revealing the deep scoop neckline and hint of cleavage its folds had concealed. Next she slipped the slim leather belt from around her waist, and toed the practical ballet flats from her feet. She removed her onyx teardrop earrings, and, placing them with the other discarded items in a canvas tote, set about revamping her appearance.

She had just stepped into her favorite ribbon-bedecked heels when the outer door swung inward, admitting Gabby Franklin. At the sight of Bonnie in all her finery, she stopped dead in her tracks and gaped. "My goodness!" she exclaimed at last, one hand clapped to her chest as if to calm a racing heart. "Look at you! I mean, I've always thought you were pretty, but… wow! You're absolutely dazzling, and I'm not just talking bling." She leaned in to inspect the drop earrings, pendant necklace and butterfly-clasp belt. "Are those real diamonds?"

"My grandmother Brennan's," Bonnie confirmed. She fingered the trefoil pendant at her throat uncertainly. "Too much?"

"For fish and chips at the Founding Fathers, sure, but I've got a strong suspicion you're not headed in that direction. What's the occasion?"

"Rose Mundy's having a private view tonight at the Tremont Gallery…"

"Oh, right! I heard Dr. Baer and that Auteuil woman discussing it. A pretty exclusive affair, I gather. That French guy, Beaumont, invite you?"

"No, the artist did. She's a friend of my grandmother's."

Gabby shook her head wonderingly. "What I wouldn't give for a grandmother like that! Twirl for me?" Bonnie completed her slow spin to find Gabby nodding approvingly. "Love the flirty swing of that skirt! And your hair looks amazing slicked back like that. Very elegant."

Bonnie ran a smoothing hand over the tight coiffure, and checked the band securing the short pony tail at her nape. "I would have loved to put it up somehow, but my hairdressing skills don't extend that far." She pasted a smile on her lips, and reached her arms out to the side, hands palm forward. "So… do I really look all right?"

"No, you look incredible, so stop fussing and get a move on, Cinderella, or you're going to miss the ball. Unless…" Gabby regarded her through narrowing eyes. "… that's the whole point of this primping and preening."

Bonnie sighed. "I want to go, I really do. It's just… I feel a little nervous about showing up alone."

"Honey," Gabby chortled, "once you cross the threshold, you won't be alone for more than five minutes, believe you me. Men'll come swarming around like bees to a blossom."

While expressed in somewhat alarming terms, Gabby's homey support gave Bonnie the ego boost she sorely needed, and she was able, finally, to smile at her colleague with genuine warmth. It occurred to her then, much too late, that she could have enjoyed the evening in Gabby's easy company if only she'd thought to invite her earlier. She gave herself a mental head slap, and, taking up her black satin clutch, removed one of the glossy invitations she'd secreted there. "I know it's awfully last minute," she apologized, holding the card out to Gabby, "but if there's any chance you'd like to go, please be my guest. I don't mean come with me now," she added hurriedly, "although I'd like that, of course. Just take it in case, later on, you feel like popping in for a glass of champagne and a look around."

Gabby accepted the card and examined it curiously. "I won't say I'm not a little tempted — free booze and canapés! — so, thanks for the offer. To be honest, though, I don't see myself going to the trouble of getting all dolled up and going out again tonight. Still," she allowed, tucking the card away in a pants' pocket. "You never know. I may have a change of heart. Meanwhile, you high tail it on out of here, and go knock everybody's socks off. You got this, girl!"

It was not, subsequently, possible to say with precision if Gabby had been right or wrong in predicting her young friend would attract a man's attention within minutes of her arrival as, once through the gallery doors, Bonnie was so captivated by the paintings on display she immediately forgot both her solitary state and the passing of time. She could not help but be aware of the crowd, but the other visitors meandering the exhibit halls or standing about chatting in small groups were not so much possible acquaintances, friends and colleagues as obstacles between herself and Rose Mundy's vibrant art. It might, indeed, have been anywhere for the foreseen five minutes to a full quarter hour before Sébastien Beaumont appeared at her elbow, a flute of sparkling wine in each hand.

"I hesitated to approach," he said, when she finally noticed him beside her. He held out one of the glasses to her. "You have seemed entirely mesmerized, a princess enchanted. I hardly dared to break the spell."

Bonnie took the flute and thanked him somewhat absently. "It's wonderful, isn't it?" she said, gesturing about her with her free hand. "I've always admired Mme Vincent's work, but I didn't know she was capable of this."

Sébastien gulped down some wine before nodding. "She has truly outdone herself this time. The technical mastery I anticipated, but her wit in treating her subjects, that is something remarkable and fresh."

He moved slowly off toward the next canvas, and Bonnie fell into step beside him. "Is it all portraits, do you know?"

"Yes, an homage to her 'connections,' the important people in her life, past and present, everyone from former lovers to her husband's grandchildren. And speaking of the former…" Coming to a halt, he motioned grandly to the portrait before them. "You will not need me, I am sure, to identify the sitter."

Bonnie knew him at once, of course: Bernard Perec, the painter whose name had, over the previous thirty years, come to replace Picasso as shorthand for artistic genius. Like all the other subjects, he was facing out of the canvas, his gaze direct and nearly confrontational, as if to disrupt the traditional assumption of who was the viewer and who the viewed. Rose Mundy had painted him in his characteristic pose: straddling a chair, his legs in paint-stained trousers spread wide apart, arms crossed rather belligerently over the curved back. In the upper right hand corner, as if hanging on the wall behind him, was the painting of a nude, easily recognizable as Perec's famous _Odalisque_ , for which the young Rose had served as model. "Mundy has not only made their 'connection' clear," Sébastien pointed out, unnecessarily in Bonnie's opinion, "she has also turned the tables on her old _maitre_. At one and the same time, she acknowledges her passive role in the past, and her current position as actor in her own right. Both a tribute and an appropriation. Delicious!"

They continued their leisurely circuit, Sébastien holding forth non-stop, like some over-zealous museum docent. "The influence of the fauvists on the vivid color scheme… the favoring of abstract shape and form over faithful representation… the heavy outlining of the figures so reminiscent of Cézanne…" Bonnie, nearly all her attention focused on her personal reactions to each succeeding image, lent him only half an ear unless he was expounding on some of the more obscure 'connections.' Then, he was entertaining and informative, and she listened with pleasure. When they examined the portrait of the Marquis de Sancerre, Sébastien even managed to tie the relationship clue back to himself. "That painting in the background is an early Rose Mundy work I acquired for the old gentleman. He was so taken with the piece, he asked if I might arrange an introduction to the artist, a request I was only too happy to fulfill. That meeting led, by the usual stages, to their marriage and present connubial bliss, which they would not now enjoy except for me!"

There was one painting, however, whose iconography Sébastien could not elucidate. It featured a child seated on an expanse of gold and tan beach, with a stretch of deep blue water behind and a cloud-flecked sky above. A boy, if the traditional blue of the sun hat and swim trunks was any indication, he appeared to be a toddler, certainly no older than two. Alone of Rose Mundy's subjects, he did not look out of the canvas, but down at the mound of sand beyond his dimpled knees. He held a bright yellow shovel in one pudgy fist and seemed to be concentrating all his baby thoughts on devising the best strategy for achieving his castle-making goal. His seriousness of purpose struck Bonnie as both sweet and comical in one so young, and reminded her of the similarly singleminded expression she had often seen on Danny Baer's face when he applied pencil to paper. As token of connection, in the upper corner of the painting a dolphin was shown in mid-leap, the arch of its body silver-gray against the sky. "One of the Marquis' grandchildren?" Bonnie guessed.

Sébastien shook his head. "The Marquis has only granddaughters. Four, I believe." He stepped up to read the painting's title from the accompanying information tag, but came away unenlightened. "She has called it simply 'Dolphin,' " he reported with a shrug. "No help there."

Before they could indulge in further speculation, a trill of laughter as musical as a scale cascaded some distance behind them. Turning toward the sound, Bonnie could just make out beyond the milling visitors one edge of a stationary group of individuals, three of whom she knew: Henri Perrin, Isabelle Auteuil and Bear. As she watched, Isabelle, in a sheath dress as brilliantly-colored as the paintings around her, leaned across Bear the better to hear what Perrin was saying, and, catching some punch line, threw her head back and once again crowed with laughter. Bonnie's eyes flew to Bear, only to find him looking back at her. She lowered her eyes at once, embarrassed to be caught staring, but not before she saw him tip his chin up ever so slightly in greeting.

Beside her, Sébastien muttered a most unflattering French epithet, and, cupping her elbow, steered her toward one of the alcoves off the far end of the long room. "Do you know, my dear, I believe I have been quite remiss in not telling you how very beautiful you look this evening. You put every other woman here tonight in the shade, not excepting la Marquise herself who ought, by rights, to be the star of her own show. I have been the object of untold envious glares, but I refuse to surrender my monopoly of your time and attention, unless of course you expressly request it."

Bonnie murmured some noncommittal reply to this flowery speech. She had heard the words only distantly, her ears still ringing with peals of laughter and her mind replaying obsessively the interchange she'd just glimpsed. It was to be expected, given the crush of people and their attendant noise, that conversation would be possible only in tight groups, but even so, Bonnie did not think it necessary for Isabelle to stand so very close to Bear. She was not so frail, after all, to require resting her slim shoulder so familiarly against his. Bonnie drew some small consolation in recalling Bear's impassive expression. Either the joke had not been particularly funny or his attention had not been sufficiently engaged. She found herself hoping, rather unkindly, that it was the latter.

Preoccupied with these thoughts and mental images, she set eyes on the next portrait without really seeing it. The sitter, an older woman of regal bearing, sat on a high-backed, throne-like chair with, loosely held between long, slender hands, a professional-grade digital camera on her lap. Jogged out of her abstraction, Bonnie quickly sought the woman's face, and inhaled sharply. Her suddenly nerveless fingers lost their grip on her largely unsampled glass of champagne, and it might have plunged disastrously to the floor had not Sébastien, noting her disarray, steadied her hand around it.

"Ma foi, Bonnie," he said, breathless in his alarm. "Whatever's happened? All the roses drained from your cheeks in a moment, as if you'd seen a ghost."

Bonnie had recovered enough from her surprise to laugh at herself. "An apparition, yes, but a very welcome one." She held a hand out toward the painting, as if in introduction. "My most dear, incomparable grandmother, Angela Montenegro."

Taken aback, Sébastien leaned away, and studied her suspiciously. "You are not having me on? You are truly related to _l'ange américaine_? That is how she is called, you know, in Parisian art circles. For my part, I must say, I do not find the slightest resemblance between you."

Bonnie was about to concede the truth of this observation when she felt an arm slip companionably through her own. "Superficially, that is true, Sébastien," Mme Vincent answered in her stead. "In appearance, they are not at all alike. But in character, in spirit, _there_ they are very much the same." She released Bonnie's arm, and stepping round to face her, saluted her young friend's cheeks in the French manner. Bonnie was relieved to see that, contrary to Sébastien's representation, Madame was gorgeously dressed, and out-sparkled her by a noticeable degree. "Why, Sébastien," she said, turning to that gentleman. "I see your glass is quite empty. The wine is decent, I hope? Do you know, what with flitting about here and there, and stopping to chat with this one and that other, I have not tried so much as a sip!"

Sébastien took the hint good-naturedly, and, with a promise to return shortly, went off to the bar to procure champagne for himself and his hostess. Left to themselves, Madame turned back to Bonnie with a grin. "I hope you will forgive my pouncing on you like this, _ma chère_ , but when I saw you making for this area, I could not resist observing your first reaction to this painting with my own eyes. What do you say? Have I done Angela justice?"

Bonnie turned back to the portrait and let her eyes rove fondly over the erect carriage, gracefully-disposed limbs, and striking, angular features. She recognized the look in her Grammy's frank gaze for having been its recipient so often over the years; the almond-shaped eyes shone with humor, compassion and love. Madame had captured as well her grandmother's secretive smile, as mysterious and knowing as the Mona Lisa's. "You have caught her likeness and her essence, Madame, both her outer and inner beauty. It's… magnificent! If I thought I could possibly afford your price, I would beg you to let me buy it on the spot."

Mme Vincent inclined her head gratefully. "I'm so pleased you like it. As to selling, I'm afraid I couldn't oblige you, not for any amount. You see, someone has been before you."

Even knowing it could not have been hers, Bonnie felt a terrible dismay. "It's already been sold?"

The artist nodded. "Before it was even finished. But I assure you, the painting will be in excellent hands. The buyer loves Angela devotedly, and he will cherish it on that account, if no other."

There was only one man, to Bonnie's knowledge, who had been courting her grandmother assiduously, but he had the reputation, at least, of being financially strapped. Still she ventured, "Le Comte de Clermont?"

"No, no! You are on the wrong track entirely! Think, instead, of the strongest, most fundamental of all human bonds. The most sacred, too."

Under Madame's watchful eye, Bonnie pondered her meaning, and then, in a joyful flash, it came to her. "My father!"

Madame laughed merrily. "Just so! Michael-Vincent happened upon us one day when Angela was sitting for the portrait, and he insisted no one should purchase it but himself. So you see, Bonnie, you need have no regrets. Before long, the painting will be hanging in your family home, and you will be able to see it whenever you like."

"That, Madame, is the very best of news!"

"I had an idea you might think so! And now, my dear, very quickly, on another topic, before Sébastien returns…"


	38. Chapter 38: Inducements

38\. Inducements

Madame Vincent leaned in more closely, and looked up at Bonnie through her lashes. "I want to say how very grateful I am. For all your modesty and self-doubt, you came through with flying colors. You may remember I had complete faith in you."

It was, apparently, Madame's night for speaking in riddles. Bonnie shook her head regretfully. "I don't know what you mean."

"Why, Dr. Baer's being here tonight, of course! He wouldn't have come but for you, I'm sure!"

"Well, that is where you're wrong," Bonnie told her, with a certain bitter satisfaction. "He turned my invitation down flat, just as I told you he would. If you owe anyone thanks, it's Isabelle Auteuil. She…" The word 'maneuvered' sprang to her lips, but she bit it back as catty. "… talked him into escorting her. You must have noticed them together. They've gotten very chummy over the last few days."

"Ah!" There was a wealth of surmise and speculation in that one, drawn-out syllable. Madame's bright gaze dimmed and turned inward, and, a moment later, she was nodding slowly and without pleasure. "They are up to their games again, those two," she said, as if to herself. "At their age, one would think… Bah!" She shook her head impatiently, and, raising her eyes once again to Bonnie's, smiled wryly. "How does the saying go? 'There is no fool like an old fool.' " She allowed herself a small sigh, and then, without preamble, returned to her previous argument. "Dr. Baer may have claimed he changed his mind to accommodate Isabelle, but, if so, that was simply a convenient excuse. How else can one explain the way his eyes follow you about the room? No, no, you may believe me: he is here on your account, not Isabelle's."

Far from trusting the older woman, Bonnie was strongly inclined to think her delusional. " _If_ Bear is looking in my direction," she countered, trying to imbue the words with the full force of her skepticism, "he is doubtless keeping a wary eye on Sébastien. Isabelle has filled his head with the farcical notion that Sébastien is a modern-day Lothario, looking to lure unsuspecting women into his evil clutches."

Bonnie had thought to spark a laugh out of her hostess with this melodramatic spin, but surprisingly, Madame was not entertained. "I do not say Isabelle is completely reliable, but neither is there smoke without some fire, Bonnie. I have known Sébastien for more years than I care to count, and I can testify that he has not always behaved in exemplary fashion where women are concerned. He is not malicious — never that! — but he is not as careful of others as he might be, and that has led, many times, to unfortunate misunderstandings. You would do well to keep him at arm's length. Unless, of course…?" Madame lifted a brow in delicate inquiry.

Bonnie could, at first, only gape incredulously. Then, "Certainly not!"

Madame shrugged philosophically. "One never knows. Some women positively dote on older men. Take myself, for example. My husbands have both been senior to me by many years."

"Your _husbands_?" Bonnie repeated, not quite trusting her ears. "You were married before?"

She nodded briefly. "Once upon a time, when I was much too young. Ah!" she said, turning with some relief, Bonnie thought, to greet the approaching Sébastien. "My gallant knight returns, and not a moment too soon! I swear I am as parched as the Gobi Desert." Reaching out, she accepted the glass he offered and, having toasted him with it, helped herself to a healthy sip. Sébastien kept her company, and Bonnie, to be sociable, swallowed a mouthful of her long-neglected wine, only to find it had gone both warm and flat.

Lowering her glass, Madame beamed at them in equal measure. "And now, my dears, I must cease indulging myself, and go back to mingling with my guests. But, before I run, Bonnie, I must absolutely have your promise that you will come to my little celebratory supper after the show. I have retained a private dining room at my hotel, nothing big, a table for ten friends only! No, no," she exclaimed, as Bonnie, a long day behind her, opened her mouth to make her excuses, "you must not refuse! You have already been quite generous in your praise, I know, but I find I am still wanting more, and in greater detail! Sébastien, you will persuade her, will you not? I put all my faith in you!" She flashed a last smile, and with a waggle of beringed fingers, moved off. " _À bientôt!_ "

They watched her slink away and, when she had joined another cluster of visitors a small distance off, Sébastien fell to his task. "If you are anything like me, you will be starving. The amuse-bouches, while tasty, do no more than whet the appetite, don't you find?"

Bonnie, not having partaken of the canapés, had no opinion to offer, but, at the mention of nibbles, her empty stomach growled, amply confirming Sébastien's supposition. Ever courteous, he did not remark upon the sound, but continued, "It's excessively convenient for myself, of course, as well as for Henri and Isabelle. We would, doubtless, have dined at the hotel in any case, as we are all guests there, too, on the Marquise's recommendation. A top-notch establishment, with excellent cuisine."

She had only to remember her brunch with Madame Vincent to know this was true. "I'm familiar with the restaurant."

He inclined his head. "There is good food, then, and, if I may be so bold, good company to tempt you. Not to mention the opportunity to ask our hostess a few home questions. Even for me, with all my expertise, there remain a number of mysteries, not least of which is the 'connection' between little boy blue and the dolphin. There, I must admit, I am well and truly…" He leaned in, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "… _at sea_."

He was so pleased with his wordplay, Bonnie could not begrudge him an answering smile, even as she groaned inwardly. She could not deny, either, that she was every bit as curious about _Dolphin'_ s backstory as he was. "Do you think she'll answer?"

Sébastien shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. She can be elusive as a butterfly when it suits her. In any event, I will try my luck." He raised his glass, and drank deeply, signaling, in Bonnie's mind, that he had made his case and awaited results. She was weighing her fatigue against his arguments when she became aware of his watching her uncertainly. "There is one more inducement," he began uneasily, "but perhaps I shouldn't mention it…"

Bonnie suspected his reluctance was a ploy to stimulate her interest, but she decided to play along. "Oh, no, you don't! You've said too much to back out now. What is it?"

"I've hear back from Paris, from Armand. He's sent the photos of the Blanchard paintings."

She was so thrilled, she nearly dropped her glass again. "But, that's wonderful! Do you have them on your vid-screen? Can I see them?"

He frowned at her reprovingly. "Consider where you are! I hardly think it would be respectful to stand about Rosa Mundy's private view examining another artist's work." When she subsided, properly chastened, he went on, "Besides, there appears to be a problem. Armand reminds me that we have a non-disclosure agreement with the Lavallières: the photos were supplied for our use only, and are not to be shared with third parties without their express consent. By rights, I shouldn't show them to you until they've given their permission."

It frustrated Bonnie no end to think of the photos so tantalizingly close and yet beyond her reach. "It's not like I plan to use them for personal gain," she grumbled. "What harm can my having a look at them do?"

"None at all, which is why I am willing to let you have a peek without delay. Only, it must be done quietly, at a time and a place where you will not draw attention. Tomorrow will be entirely taken up with preparing for and attending the press conference, and Saturday, I will be at Doyle's all day, followed by an early evening flight back to Paris. If you are to see them, it had better be tonight, and if you are already dining at the hotel, what could be more natural than for you to slip away to the ladies' room, say, for a few minutes alone with the photos? No one would be the wiser."

It was, as Sébastien had foreseen, a powerful inducement, but the clandestine aspect of the proceedings considerably lessened its appeal. "You couldn't just forward them to my vid-screen?" she asked in a small, hopeful voice. "I promise, word of honor, to delete them as soon as I've had a good look."

He shook his head regretfully. "I like you, Bonnie, and you are likely as trustworthy as you claim, but business is business, I'm afraid. And," he went on, his manner becoming suddenly brisk, "what is the hurry, after all? Once I return to Paris, I will petition the Lavallières to grant permission, and, if all goes well, in a week or two, you will have access to the photos, free and clear. That is the best way. Forget I mentioned it."

That, however, proved a difficult injunction for Bonnie to obey, rather on a par with being admonished not to scratch an unrelenting itch. As she and Sébastien took in the remaining canvases, the words _if all goes well_ echoed ominously in the back of her mind, and she found herself increasingly chafed at the thought of being forced to wait so needlessly. She made a concerted effort to possess her soul in patience, but she was ultimately so little successful that when Sébastien, on the point of leaving the gallery, asked if she had decided to join them for dinner, she hesitated only a moment before saying yes.

At the hotel, they were ushered through the main dining area and into a tiny jewel of a room that, coincidentally enough, had been decorated in the elaborate French Rococo style. From the sumptuous brocade draperies framing the single window to the massive chandelier above the table and the intricately-carved white-and-gilt chairs around its edge, every element of the room evoked the elegance and opulent excess of that famously decadent era. They were, as it happened, among the last to arrive: Henri Perrin, taking host duties upon himself in Madame Vincent's absence, introduced Bonnie to their fellow guests, who included such notables as the French Cultural Attaché for D.C., the art critic for the Washington Post and Agnes Simon, a prominent local philanthropist and patroness of the arts. Having seen Bonnie comfortably installed at Perrin's side, Sébastien excused himself in order to 'freshen up' and was, as a result, not present when Isabelle glided into the room trailing a rather grim-looking Bear behind her. At the sight of him, Bonnie could not contain her surprise and delight, although it was clear from his expression that, for his part, he would rather be anywhere else.

Sébastien, spruced up and having exchanged his sharkskin suit for black formalwear, had only just returned when Madame Vincent made her triumphant entrance, the exultant owner of the Tremont Gallery at her side. She accepted her guests' prolonged applause and enthusiastic congratulations with becoming gratitude and grace, at last begging them to leave off and assume their seats before they all perished from hunger.

In the hurly-burly of settling down to dinner, Bonnie found herself seated between Sébastien and Henri, and not next to Bear, as she would have preferred. She was keen to learn his impressions of the show, but he and Isabelle were across the table from her, well out of conversational range. In any case, the discussion proved general at first, with, for the most part, each of the guests politely waiting his or her turn to contribute an opinion or ask a question. As the youngest and least-knowledgeable of the company, Bonnie volunteered very little, content to enjoy her meal and the brilliant give-and-take of ideas, observations and commentary that flowed around her.

The only person with less to say was Bear, and he confined himself to speaking only when directly addressed and then as briefly as possible. His replies were perfectly civil, but it was plain from his distant manner that he was holding himself aloof, as if he had no real interest in being among them. He kept his face rigidly turned away from Madame Vincent, and she, wisely, made no effort to coax him out of his bad humor, although she could not seem to help casting the occasional, wistful glance his way.

They had just had their entrées placed before them when Agnes Simon aired a complaint, albeit in a joking fashion. "Of all those exquisite paintings, wouldn't you know I had to go and choose as my favorite the only one she won't sell! Too cruel, Rosa!" Pressed for the title, Agnes admitted she'd set her heart on _Dolphin_.

Sébastien's voice rose above the hubbub of commiseration and agreement. " _À propos_ , Rosa, I am intrigued, as are no doubt many others in the room, as to the 'connection' between yourself and the infant. The leaping sea creature, while charming, is not much of a clue. Who is he?"

Madame Vincent's smile held a trace of sadness. "A lovely boy I cared for when I was little more than teenager."

"So long ago as that!" Perrin teased, with the license of long friendship. "No wonder you cannot recall his name!"

"Ah, but Dolphin was his name, or at least what I used to call him. A play on his first and middle names, you see."

"And his last name?"

Before she could answer, a chair scraped noisily back from the table, and, Bear, having wiped his mouth with his napkin, rose to his feet and tossed it next to his loaded plate. With a muttered excuse, he strode from the room, leaving his fellow guests staring after him.

"What in the world got into him?" Henri Perrin said, speaking for all of them.

Madame Vincent shook her head. "I really can't say."


	39. Chapter 39: Machinations

39\. Machinations

Bonnie continued to look at the open doorway through which Bear had disappeared, her concern for him urging her to jump out of her chair and follow even as her sense of decorum kept her ruthlessly glued to her seat. Isabelle broke the awkward silence by throwing out a new topic, and, the company taking it up gratefully, conversation was soon restored, and with all the greater animation for having been interrupted. Under cover of the hubbub, Madame Vincent cast an appealing glance at Sébastien, and he responded without hesitation, excusing himself quietly from the table and slipping away. A short time later, he and Bear returned, Sébastien chatting nonchalantly with his companion as if their paths had simply crossed on their separate ways back. Bear resumed his seat with a quick apology, citing a 'temporary indisposition,' now safely past. Isabelle bent over him solicitously, but he assured her the 'fresh air' had worked wonders and with that, the incident was smoothed over and forgotten.

Resettled at Bonnie's side, Sébastien downed the contents of his wine glass, and poured himself a refill. He indicated the tête-à-tête across the table with a sharp tilt of his chin. "Touching, isn't it, the motherly care she lavishes on your colleague."

Bonnie could see nothing maternal in the curl of Isabelle's fingers over Bear's hand, and she deduced from the sneer in Sébastien's voice that he didn't, either. "You think she's too old for him."

"By a decade, at least! Oh, I grant you, she looks good for her age. She's as alluring today as she was in her thirties." He broke off abruptly, and paused a beat, his lips pressed into a thin line. "The point is," he continued, more evenly, "she's making a spectacle of herself, and all to no purpose. Baer has his sights set elsewhere, as who should know better than I? Whenever he looks at me, there are green daggers shooting from his eyes."

"For the last time, Sébastien," Bonnie said, in some exasperation, "there is nothing going on between me and Bear! He's taken a dislike to you, that's true enough, but it's because of your reputation as a Don Juan. He objects to you on moral grounds."

"That is, at best, a small part of it. No," he pronounced, with a definitive shake of his head, "he wishes me to the Devil on your account, and who can blame him? Isabelle has her charms, my dear, but they cannot rival yours."

The mutual absorption of the twosome across the table did little to support this view. "Again, I have to say you're way off base. For whatever reason, you seriously underestimate Isabelle's attractiveness. Did you know _she_ was the one to cajole Bear into attending the show tonight? He refused even to consider it when _I_ asked him."

He regarded her with a mix of incredulity and suspicion. _"You_ invited him, and he turned you down?"

"Yes. So, what does that tell you?"

He had no immediate answer, and she left him to brood over the question as she finished her duck à l'orange. Seeing her at liberty, Henri Perrin engaged her in a very pleasant conversation which saw her agreeably through the clearing of the entrée dishes and well into the cheese course. It ended with Henri's expressing the flattering hope that they might meet again in the not-too-distant future. "I have seen for myself how valuable you are to the _Coupe d'amour_ project, and have had, in addition, the most glowing reports from both Sébastien and Isabelle. Our hostess, as well, speaks very highly of you, and has given me to believe you are interested in applying for next year's Louvre Fellowship. Permit me to say I sincerely hope you will do so. You have precisely the qualities and background we look for in a candidate. No guarantees, of course, but, for what good it may do, you will have me firmly in your corner."

Bonnie was a bit overwhelmed by this speech. She had not expected a man of Perrin's stature to take any notice of her, let alone consider her with approval. "You are very kind, monsieur. Merci! Your good opinion means a great deal to me."

"We may consider it settled, then? You will send in your application?"

She assured him that she would, and he, taking advantage of the transition between courses, announced he would 'just stretch his legs a little' before dessert. Others in the company followed his lead, abandoning their seats to 'visit the powder room,' or 'see a man about a horse.' Looking about the half-deserted table, Bonnie realized that, with the evening drawing rapidly to a close, this was likely her best, and possibly last, chance to accept Sébastien's offer to lend her his vid-screen for a glimpse of the Lavallières photos. It would be unremarkable, as he'd predicted, for her to absent herself for ten minutes or so, but the window of opportunity was not large, and if she was going to act, she had to do so at once. Impulsively, she swiveled in his direction, and found him staring morosely into the depths of his empty goblet. "Sébastien," she began, tentatively, "about my borrowing your vid-screen to… you know…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "…see the Blanchard paintings…"

A look of genuine chagrin crossed his face. "My dear, I am so sorry! I thought we had agreed you would wait for permission. As I didn't think I'd be needing it and the battery was running low, I left it in my room on its charger. Did I misunderstand you?"

Bonnie's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "No, it was my mistake. I thought I could resign myself to the delay, but that was wishful thinking. I've never been a particularly patient person."

He mirrored her regret, his eyes full of sympathy. "A thousand apologies! It is not in my DNA, you know, to let a lady down, and it grieves me unspeakably to have done so." He flourished his glass before setting it carefully on the table. "If I had indulged a bit less and were steadier on my feet, I would rush up to my room and remedy the situation, but I fear, once there, I would not be proof against the temptation of a soft pillow for my woozy head." He smiled in wry self-deprecation, only to perk up a moment later, his expression newly bright. "There's no reason, however, that you shouldn't go in my place." He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket, and brought out his hotel key card. "Room 2704. If you hurry, you can be back before they bring out the crème brûlée."

Twenty-seven floors up and down, not to mention waiting for the elevator, locating the room, and collecting the vid-screen… Bonnie shook her head helplessly, and motioned the proffered card away. "Thanks for the suggestion, but, with all the coming-and-going, I'd only have time to return it to you here, and what would that accomplish? No," she said, on a sigh. "I messed up. The fault is mine."

Sébastien, however, would not admit the cause lost. "How about this? Don't bring the vid-screen down at all. Just access the photos in the room. If you're gone so long somebody notices, I'll cover for you."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" At his owlish stare, she continued, "Don't you lock your device?"

He tapped himself smartly on the forehead. "Of course! You'll need the passcode. Luckily, it's fairly easy to remember…"

"No!" Although he gave no visible signs of inebriation, Bonnie thought his judgment had to be seriously impaired to surrender a sensitive piece of information so casually. "Really, don't tell me! I appreciate your generosity, I do, but sharing your passcode is going above and beyond the call of gallantry. I can't allow it."

He fixed her with an earnest look. "You're sure? I don't mind, truly."

"I'm sure." She laid a hand over his where it rested on the table, and gave his fingers a grateful squeeze. "Thanks for the offer, though. You're a sweetheart."

"Not at all," he said, politely. His eyes strayed from hers, irresistibly drawn across the table where Isabelle was, to all appearances, holding Bear spellbound. His affable smile faded, and then soured, leaving his mouth a bitter twist. "Besides, haven't you heard? I'm a monster of selfishness, never kind without an ulterior motive, always scheming for personal gain. I'm an opportunist, a deceiver, a wolf in sheep's clothing. No woman is safe with me."

Sébastien did not need to crook his fingers for Bonnie to hear quotation marks. She could easily imagine an angry young Isabelle throwing those very words in his face, or they might have been reported back to him multiple times over the years; what was not in doubt was their source. "That's the story making the rounds."

He nodded grimly. "I expected as much, which is why I haven't suggested the easy and obvious expedient of your coming up to my room to see the photos after dinner. It's perfectly understandable, given my black character, that you would be leery of such an invitation, so I haven't, and won't, propose it. The shame of it is, I can upload the photos to the in-room flat-screen — I've done so with the pictures I took at Doyle's — and that would afford you much better resolution than the vid-screen provides. But, it's out of the question, of course, so there's an end to it."

The faintest tinkling sound preceded the appearance in the doorway of a well-stocked liquor trolley, its gleaming wood shelves studded with variously-sized bottles and stemmed glasses. As the attendant barman worked his way around the room, mixing up cocktails and pouring Cognac and sherry straight up, Sébastien compared and contrasted French digestifs for Bonnie's benefit, recommending at last green Chartreuse for its herbal properties. "It settles the stomach wonderfully," he said, ordering a glass for each of them.

The liqueur tasted strongly medicinal, and, after her first small sip, Bonnie only pretended to swallow the revolting stuff. Instead, over the rim of her glass, she watched Sébastien savor his drink in leisurely fashion, his posture relaxed, his manner composed. She had not heard much of his disquisition on French liqueurs, her mind busy turning over the invitation he had not dared to extend. Bear's warning was in her head as well, urging caution, but, try as she might, she could see nothing of the rake in the man lounging beside her. She remembered proclaiming him innocuous, if somewhat irritating, on short acquaintance, and nothing in his behavior since, and especially this evening, had called that assessment into question. He'd been a gentleman throughout, treating her with courtesy and a certain avuncular friendship, and had earned thereby, in her estimation, the benefit of the doubt. She determined to take a page out of her grandfather's playbook, and go with her gut. "Sébastien…" she said, setting her drink aside.

He gestured to the nearly-full glass. "You don't like it? I admit, it requires an educated palate."

"Hmm? Oh, no! It's… ah… lovely, thank you. Listen… I know you said inviting me to your room is off the table, but how would it be if I invited myself? I've heard the gossip, but, frankly, I don't believe it. I prefer to draw my conclusions about people from my personal dealings with them, and you strike me as a good guy."

Sébastien regarded her with something akin to wonder, a suspicion of moisture gathering in his eyes. "Do I, my dear? You mean it? Then, I must, with infinite regret, live up to your expectations, and refuse you. If I had a daughter your age, which, thankfully, I do not, I would advise her against going off alone with a man she hardly knows, however innocent the purpose." He smiled an apology, his eyes begging her to understand and forgive. And, then, as before, his face lit with inspiration, and he snapped his fingers. "A chaperone! That's the ticket! Madame Vincent has a room down the hall from mine. She can just step in for those few minutes…"

"Really, Sébastien, no! I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing her, particularly after the day she's had."

"Then, Isabelle. Her room is also nearby…" He shook his head. "No, she is far too curious, and unlikely to oblige me in any case. Dr. Baer?"

"Sébastien, stop!" Bonnie saw no need to involve a third party, and, even if she had, she would not turn to Bear, not after having roundly declared Sébastien harmless and herself capable of handling him. "I appreciate your looking out for me, but there's no need to complicate matters. I'm fine with its being just the two of us. And, anyway, you don't want it getting out you're showing me the photos, remember?"

He winced at the reminder, and put his empty cordial glass away from him, as if it were at fault. "Shouldn't've had that last one, I guess…" She made no comment, but only regarded him steadily, pressing for an answer with her eyes. He met and held her gaze uneasily, his expression troubled. "I should say no…"

"But you won't?"

He continued to waver. "You really want to see those photos tonight?"

"I do."

He studied her for another breathless moment, and then, with a sigh, relented. "All right. If you're sure. How do you want to go about it?"


	40. Chapter 40: Ambush

40\. Ambush

Putting their heads together over dessert, the co-conspirators worked out a plan that called for Sébastien to 'tear himself away' early, citing as his excuse the need to respond to emails and texts that had accumulated over the course of the day. Bonnie was to take her own leave only after an interval long enough to avoid any suggestion of their departures being connected. While she remained behind, inconspicuously topping off her meal with a café noir, he would be using the time to transfer the Lavallières' photos to the flat-screen so they would be ready for inspection immediately upon her arrival.

When Sébastien finally pushed away from the table, a general murmur of protest arose at his breaking up so convivial a party before time, and he was enjoined to stay for coffee, but he maintained he had already neglected the demands of his business too long, and could not procrastinate further, much to his regret.

"We won't keep you, then," Madame Vincent said. "But, later, if your work allows, feel free to come by my suite for a night cap. Henri is stopping by, and Isabelle, too, I believe."

Sébastien nodded acquiescence. "I make no promises, though. I anticipate being occupied the rest of the evening." The words, though ostensibly addressed to his hostess, were accompanied by a provocative look at Isabelle, who returned an infinitesimal lift of her chin. He saluted the company then with a last smile and parting wave, and was gone.

Bonnie nursed her coffee, biding her time as, some quickly, some slowly, her dinner companions finished their after-dinner drinks and made their goodbyes. When some twenty minutes had passed, and their number had been reduced by four, she decided her moment had come. Slipping into the seat just vacated by the French Cultural Attaché, she smiled gratefully at Madame Vincent. "I'm afraid I must be off, too. It's been such a lovely evening. Thank you so much for inviting me."

"Not at all, my dear. I am so very happy you came. I know it is something of an inconvenience for you, staying in town so late."

"Do you not live in the city, then?" came Isabelle's voice from over her shoulder. "Forgive the intrusion," she went on, as Bonnie turned to her. "I couldn't help but hear, and curiosity did the rest."

"I live outside the District, in Virginia."

"You have a long commute ahead of you?"

"Usually, but I'm not going home tonight." As Isabelle's brows climbed her forehead, Bonnie hastened to explain, "I've arranged to stay overnight with some cousins."

"Ah! How fortunate for you, to have so accommodating a family."

"Yes, I am very lucky. And speaking of family…" Bonnie turned back to her hostess. "I won't say 'good-bye,' Madame, but only 'au revoir,' as I hope to see you again at the gallery. I plan to have a second look over the weekend and I'm sure, once my grandfather Booth hears about your portrait of Angela, he is going to want to come with me. They are very dear friends, those two."

Madame Vincent's face blossomed into a warm smile. "But, we must leave nothing to chance! If you only knew how I have longed to meet the celebrated Agent Booth! Such stories Angela tells about him! And, I confess, I have read the novel based on his and your grandmother Brennan's great romance, and, yes, seen the movie, too. I would not miss meeting him for the world!"

Bonnie, having promised to phone to arrange all the details, gathered her evening wrap and clutch, and was already congratulating herself on a neat getaway, when Bear unaccountably pushed to his feet. "I'll just walk you out and see you into a cab."

"What? No!" She heard the dismay in her voice, and tried her best to play it down. "I mean, there's no need for you to trouble yourself, really! You… ah… haven't finished your coffee, and besides, I'm not leaving right away. I… um… have to make a brief stop at… you know…" She let the sentence dangle lamely as she swiftly rounded Isabelle's chair, passed behind a still-standing Bear, and scurried to the door and safety. When she ventured one last look and 'goodbye' over her shoulder, it was to see several faces staring after her in mild perplexity and concern.

It was just as well she did visit the ladies' before heading upstairs as Isabelle swung through the door as she was washing her hands. "All right, then?" the older woman asked solicitously. "You rushed from the room so quickly, we feared you must have come over ill."

Bonnie forced a cheery smile. "Right as rain, as you see. Thank you for checking, but now, if you'll excuse me, I really must run."

"Of course, my dear. You won't want to keep your _cousins_ waiting."

As she stood fidgeting before the bank of elevators, Bonnie tried to convince herself she'd imagined the mocking inflection Isabelle had given the word "cousins," just as she was imagining the feel of eyes trained upon her back. She sighed with relief when her elevator arrived at last, only to castigate herself a moment later for having chosen the express car to the upper floors. She ought to have taken the stairs to the first floor, and hopped an elevator from there. As a covert operative, she was a disaster. How Eddie would tsk-tsk, if he knew!

Room 2704 proved to be easy to find, only a few feet from the elevator along a thickly-carpeted, somber-hued corridor. Bonnie rapped sharply on the door a few times, and Sébastien appear in short order, a look of unmistakable delight on his face. He had dispensed with his jacket and tie, and even his shoes, she noticed, as he ushered her in on stockinged feet. The room beyond the short entryway was immense and luxuriously appointed, with a king-size bed dominating one end, a sitting area taking up the other, and a fully-equipped desk in between along the exterior wall. "This is very nice! You must be very comfortable here."

"Tolerably." He gestured her toward the sofa and chairs arranged opposite a wall-mounted flat-screen currently displaying a vividly-colored bucolic scene. "You were so long in coming, I thought you must have changed your mind."

She felt his hands at her shoulders, ready to ease off her wrap, and after a brief hesitation, surrendered it to him, along with her bag. "I had a little trouble getting away, and I may as well confess, I could have handled it better. I think Isabelle suspects the truth."

He nodded, unperturbed. "She's sharp, that one. Not much gets by her, but don't worry. She rarely acts on her suspicions."

Bonnie was walking away before he'd finished speaking, irresistibly drawn to the image on the screen. A blushing shepherdess and her swain were lovingly entangled beneath the sheltering boughs of a venerable oak, their disordered clothes brilliant splashes of blue, pink and yellow against the forest green background. "This is by Blanchard?" she said, turning to Sébastien, only to find him leaning over the low-slung table behind her, pouring a golden-brown liquid into snifter glasses.

"Hmm? No, sorry! When I gave up hope of you, I decided to examine again the Boucher paintings I plan to bid on Saturday." He extended one of the drinks for her to take, and when she would have declined, wheedled, "Surely you won't be so unkind as to make me drink alone!" He set the liquid in his own glass swirling, and, raising the snifter to his nose, inhaled deeply. "Vintage Armagnac, smooth and fragrant. You must try at least a sip!"

She was minded to stand her ground, even to remarking that he had already imbibed enough over dinner, but she could not bring herself to be rude when he had gone out of his way for her. She accepted the drink and tipped just a bit of the brandy into her mouth. "Mmm," she said, mostly to please him. "Very nice. So, Sébastien… the Blanchard paintings?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, easily, "but what is the hurry, after all?" He stepped around the table, and sinking onto the sofa, patted the cushion beside him. "Come, have a seat. Let us savor our wine, and spend a little last while together. Unless…" he went on, as she shifted irresolutely from foot to foot, "you have merely been pretending to enjoy my company these last three days, secretly wishing me to perdition the whole time?"

"Of course not," she protested, half truthfully and half out of politeness. There was no help for it, then: she rounded the other side of the table, and perched on the edge of the couch, the snifter cradled in her hands.

"How very prim and proper you are," Sébastien laughed. "The very picture of maidenly virtue! Come now, you can unbend with me! Put you feet up! That is as pretty a pair of shoes as I have yet to see, but I'll wager they pinch unmercifully."

Bonnie obliged so far as to settle deeper into the sofa, her lower back against the cushions. Sébastien toasted this concession, and, raising the glass to his lips, watched her over the rim. "Do you know," he said, lightly, "I think, despite your brave words earlier, you're not at your ease being here alone with me. Tucked up there in your corner, you look very like a little mouse expecting the big, bad cat to pounce at any minute."

"Well, then, looks are deceiving," she said, a bit stiffly. "I don't feel any anxiety whatever where you're concerned. You're not the predator you're made out to be."

"You're so sure of that, are you? It's true I'm not a monster…" He reached out a hand, and ran the back of his fingers from her bare shoulder to her elbow. "… but I am a man, my dear, with a man's natural desires."

His expression was so over-the-top suggestive as to be practically comical. "If you're offering to show me your 'etchings,' I'm going to have to pass. That's not what I came here to see, as you well know."

"And see the Blanchard paintings you will, all in good time. For the moment, here we are, two healthy, compatible, consenting adults, neither of us attached. At least…" He cast a pointed look at her left hand. "No wedding band."

Bonnie glanced down at the offending finger which might even now have been sporting Trev's ring. "I'm… ah… engaged. Not officially yet, but soon."

Sébastien's smiled widened. "You really cannot lie at all convincingly. Stay, stay," he said, catching her gently by the arm when she made to rise. "If you cannot like the idea, you have only to say so. But, why not give it a chance? Relax. Let go…" He leaned in toward her, his eyes on her mouth, the smell of liquor on his breath. "Just a kiss to start with…"

She shrank away, and angling to one side, managed to scramble up and past him, the brandy sloshing with the sudden movement and nearly spilling on her dress. She set the snifter back on the table, and backed away. "No, Sébastien! No! I'm sorry if I somehow gave you the impression that I'd be open to… to that sort of overture, but…" She shook her head firmly. "You can either show me the paintings, or I'm leaving. Now."

He appeared to take her rejection in good part. "Very well," he said, with a shrug and a dry smile. "You can't blame a man for trying." He picked up his vid-screen from its charging stand and began swiping across its surface with rapid strokes. On the flat-screen, photos of paintings, some showing their totality, others, their details, followed swiftly one after another, the stream too quick for more than a general sense of shapes and colors. A few dizzying moments later, an image zipped onto the screen and was allowed to remain. Sébastien stood, and leaving the table between them, held the vid-screen out to her. "This is the first of six. When you're ready, swipe left for the next one."

Bonnie took the device, happy to discover it was the same make and model as her own. She waited, somewhat warily, for Sébastien to come round to her side, but he seemed content to address himself to his brandy. "I won't be long," she promised.

He waved this away. "Take your time."

She turned back to the photo, and with that, the room, and everyone in it, faded away. The first painting was disappointing both in its subject, a group of sumptuously-dressed revelers in an idealized country setting, and its execution, which showed neither flair nor creativity. The second, also a landscape, was more promising because more personally-observed. It depicted the droll scene of a countrywoman holding a boy by the seat of his pants in an attempt to keep him from diving into a shallow pond while, on one marshy bank, their dog snuffled in the undergrowth and up in the field above the pond, a lone figure worked the soil. The third, a barnyard scene, and the fourth, a portrait of an elderly man, held no interest for her, but the fifth made her catch her breath.

Against a nursery setting, a beautiful young woman bent over her sleeping infant's cradle, her classic features illuminated from without by a shaft of sunlight and from within by joy and adoration. Though sentimental, the painting captured the powerful love of a new mother for her child, and had obviously been executed with feeling, but what excited Bonnie most was that the blond, rosy-cheeked woman had been pictured in profile. She was about to zoom in on that detail, when she felt hot hands settle on her shoulders and begin to knead her neck. She jerked, nearly dropping the vid-screen in the process, and tried to shake herself free. "Sébastien, stop that at once! What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you loosen up a little," he said, persisting in his massage. "Go on with what you were doing. Don't mind me."

"I said, stop!" She twisted out of his grasp, and once several feet away, rounded on him angrily. "I've already made myself crystal clear. I'm not interested!"

He stalked toward her, his steps measured. "An excellent show of reluctance! I can almost believe you mean it. But we both know it is all part of the game. You pretend to resist to add spice to the chase."

"No, Sébastien!" Bonne matched her retreat to his advance as best she could, but she was hampered by having to negotiate, backwards, an unfamiliar space and kept losing ground to him. "That is _not_ what is going on here! Listen to me: I do _not_ want you. I am _not_ being coy. I am _not_ playing hard to get. _Not, not, not!_ Get it?"

She had backed her way out of the sitting area and into the middle of the room. The short passage to the exit gaped invitingly close, and she realized with a sinking heart that the better part of valor demanded she leave as quickly as possible. Casting a swift glance around, she spotted her wrap and clutch on the credenza along the interior wall, and, abandoning the vid-screen there, was about to snatch them up when Sébastien caught her by the upper arm, and swung her back round to him.

"Cruel Bonnie," he said, trapping her against his chest. "After all I have done for you, you would try to skip out without so much as a kiss? This is what I deserve from you?"

"Let me go!" Bonnie struggled and squirmed to get her arms up and under his so she could attempt to break his hold, but without success. "I mean it! Let go, now!"

He ignored her, nuzzling his face into her neck, nibbling his way up her jaw and over to her ear, murmuring drunkenly the while how good he would make it for her, how she would have no regrets. When he moved to cover her mouth with his, she reared back as far as she could, and turned her face into her shoulder. "For the last time, Sébastien, stop it! Don't make me have to hurt you. I don't want to, but I will."

His only answer was to weave the fingers of one hand into her hair, and try to guide her head back round for his embrace. She knew then he was well beyond the appeal of reason, and she had no option but to act. She made herself relax, and feigning a weakening resistance, lifted her right leg along the outside of his left. Then, just as he swooped in triumphantly to claim her mouth, she stomped down on his instep with all of her might.

He released her with a bellow, hopping back on his one good foot, while his hands reached down to cradle the injured one. Bonnie did not let herself think of the kind, agreeable Sébastien she had known over the past few days; she had been trained for this moment, and she knew she could not afford second guesses. She grasped his ears, and pulling his head down forcefully, smashed her knee into his face. He crumpled to the carpet, and lay there groaning, his fingers splayed over his nose, the back of his hands quickly streaked red with blood.

She could hear her trainer's voice in her head, shouting, "Disable and go!" but even with her wrap and bag in her arms, and her instincts urging flight, she couldn't reconcile herself to leaving him writhing in pain on the floor. She hovered irresolutely, her heart hammering more loudly in her ears than it had ever done before. It was only when she heard "Beaumont, open up," that she realized the pounding was coming from the hall. She flew to the door, and throwing it wide, saw Bear, one fist raised as if to knock again. "Oh, thank God," she said, grasping him by the arm and towing him over the threshold. "I swear I didn't want to, Bear, but, oh! I think I may have broken his nose!"


	41. Chapter 41: Aftermath

41\. Aftermath

"What?" The shriek was immediately followed by Isabelle's shouldering her way into the passage, and charging furiously past Bear and Bonnie. "Where is he? Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she cried at the sight of Sébastien lying curled in a fetal position on the floor, hands clasped loosely over his eyes and nose. Blood still seeped between his fingers, staining his upper lip and teeth, and dotting the carpet beneath him a brilliant red. She dropped to her knees beside him, and laid a comforting hand on his disheveled head. "Sébastien, _mon pauvre ami,_ talk to me! Tell me, how bad is it?" When he returned no more in answer than a low moan, she swung back to Bonnie, her features contorted in wrath. "Was there really the need for such brutality? What was his offense? An unwelcome pass at you? And for that, you punch his nose? You could not have shown more restraint, more finesse?"

"Isabelle!" Bear objected sharply. "Bonnie's not to blame, here."

"Is she not? She knew his reputation — we made sure of it — and yet, what does she do at the first opportunity but steal away to a secret rendezvous? In his hotel room. Just the two of them. What is one to make of such conduct? She is either unpardonably naive for someone her age, or entirely too sure of herself, take your pick." Turning back to Sébastien, she murmured soothingly, "Can you sit up, _chéri_? Yes, that is the way. Here, let me help you." She threaded her arm between his torso and the floor, and with an imperious tilt of her head, motioned Bear over. "Take his other side — carefully! We will move him to that chair there. And you!" She shot Bonnie a venomous look. "Fetch some damp cloths, and while you're at it, fill a towel with ice!"

Bonnie was too grateful to Isabelle for having taken matters in hand to resent her scathing tone or blistering accusations. Besides, she thought, as she sped to the bathroom and held first one and then another face cloth under the gushing cold water tap, Isabelle was right: she had behaved with great recklessness, all the while thinking herself so worldly and so wise. She yanked a hand towel, as well, from the rack, and racing back into the main room, heaped it with enough cubes from the ice bucket on the credenza to fashion a good-sized bundle.

Sébastien now half-sat, half-reclined in one of the deep armchairs, his head angled back along the top of the cushion. His eyes were still scrunched closed, but Isabelle had coaxed him into lifting his hands away from his face, and was even now gently pinching her way down the ridge of his nose. She took the items Bonnie held out to her without a word or look of acknowledgement and gingerly set the makeshift ice pack in place. "Here," she said, taking Sébastien's hand and guiding it into position. "Hold that."

"Is it.. broken, do you think, Isa?" Sébastien's voice was pitifully small and pained.

She knelt before his chair, and, picking up a wet cloth, began to dab the blood from his lips and chin. "It appears not, though it would be no less than you deserve, _vieux crétin_! What were you thinking, making up to a woman young enough to be your daughter? Are you so deluded as to your physical charms and suave address that you thought to lure her into your bed?" She clucked disparagingly. "Playing Casanova is a young man's sport. At your age, you should be well beyond such nonsense by now."

Sébastien jerked the ice pack from his face to glare at her. "This, from you? The most unregenerate flirt who ever lived? Which of us was flaunting a young lover in public, I ask you?"

"Ah! There it is!" Isabelle threw up her hands in disgust and sank back on her heels. "I should have known you would shift the fault to me! That is just your style!"

"And yours is always to bait and provoke me…"

"Only someone of your towering egotism…"

"Enough!" At Bear's sharp command, both antagonists jumped and turned startled faces his way. "If you feel up to arguing, Beaumont, I'm guessing you're not in too tough shape. What about it, Isabelle? You think he needs a doctor?"

Composing herself, Isabelle regarded Sébastien appraisingly. "I do not think the damage serious, but I will stay for a time and keep an eye on him. If the nose, or foot for that matter, takes a turn for the worse, I will see him to emergency care. You need not remain, Rudolph. Only do me the favor of taking _that one_ away with you. She is decidedly _de trop_."

He hesitated, frowning down at her in concern. "There's nothing more I can do for you?"

"Not at present, no. And Henri is nearby, don't forget. I will call him for help, if necessary."

Bear nodded slowly. "All right, then. I hope your night is uneventful. Not for your sake," he said to Sébastien, his tone hardening. "You've got off too lightly for my liking." He wrapped a hand around Bonnie's elbow, and started toward the door. "Come on."

Bonnie submitted to being drawn away, but could not forbear looking back over her shoulder at the pair and calling out, "I'm sorry! I really am. I didn't want to hurt him!"

"Yes, yes," Isabelle said absently, her attention concentrated fully on repositioning the ice pack where it would do the most good and then holding it in place. A moment later, Sébastien's hand rose and settled tentatively over hers, where it was allowed to remain.

"What is it with those two?" Bonnie asked, once she and Bear were on the hall-side of the door.

"I don't know, and I don't care," he said, turning her to face him. "What I want to know is, what happened in there? Are you all right? How's your hand?"

His eyes searched hers with such intensity and worry that Bonnie lost herself in them momentarily. Then, his last question registering, she said in some confusion, "My hand…? Oh! No! I… I didn't punch him. I… ah, used my knee." While the crisis lasted, she'd been too focused on Sebastien's condition to consider her own, but now she became aware of a distant throbbing in her knee and a certain roiling in her gut. "I'm f-f-fine."

"No, you're not," he said firmly, extricating her wrap from her arms and draping it over her shoulders. "You're white as chalk, and shaking like a leaf." He slipped an arm around her waist, and propelled her with him toward the elevator. "You're coming down from the adrenaline rush, and need to take a seat till it passes. We'll find you a chair in the lobby, and then, you can tell me what insanity possessed you to go to Beaumont's room tonight."

Bonnie's familiarity with reaction having been until that moment purely academic in nature, she was extremely grateful not to find herself in the position of having to weather the distressing nausea and tremors on her own, as would have been her lot had Bear and Isabelle not appeared in so timely a fashion. Her relief at the sight of him had been so great, initially, as to overwhelm every other emotion, but it occurred to her, in retrospect, that she ought to have been surprised. Her teeth had begun to chatter ever so slightly, but she managed to get out, "Why did you come? To the room?"

"Isabelle said something when just the four of us were left about how completely hopeless you are at charades. She explained about finding your behavior suspicious, and how she'd followed you out and seen you take the express elevator up instead of leave. She drew the obvious conclusion, but Madame Vincent wasn't buying it. She said you told her flat out you're not interested in Beaumont, so something else had to be going on, and she didn't like the sounds of it. That was enough for me."

The elevator doors slid open, but before Bear could hustle Bonnie into the car, Madame Vincent stepped out, with Henri Perrin close behind. Seeing her young friend's pallor and disordered coiffure, Madame's face fell in dismay. "My dear, are you all right?" she said, hurrying to Bonnie's side. "You look ready to sink! You're not hurt, are you? Only a little frightened? Bring her this way, Dr. Baer. That's right. My suite's just here, on the left."

In a matter of minutes, Bonnie was installed on a comfortable sofa in quarters that more closely resembled a small apartment than a hotel accommodation. Madame Vincent — or Rosa, as she now insisted on being called — sat beside her, holding her in a loose, one-armed hug, while Bear sat forward on the edge of the couch opposite, and Henri quietly paced the room. Bonnie made a clean breast of everything: the Blanchard paintings, the Lavallières photos, and her impatience to see them which had led to her disdaining good counsel and good sense. "There were plenty of warning signs," she admitted, "but I was so fixated on those pictures, I ignored them all."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Rosa said, chafing Bonnie's arm encouragingly. "You paid Sébastien the ultimate compliment of trusting him. That he abused your trust, willfully and for his own selfish purpose, is his shame, not yours."

"I am entirely of Rosa's opinion," Henri put in, gravely. He had listened to the give-and-take of questions and answers without contributing anything of his own, his demeanor troubled and contained. "I cannot express how very sorry I am that this should have happened. You have my most sincere apologies. I, too, was mistaken in the man. I thought, after all this time, I could rely on him to set aside his lascivious ways and behave like a true professional, but my optimism was, plainly, unwarranted." He heaved a weary sigh. "If you'll excuse me, I will just look in down the hall to see how matters stand. Rosa, I shall report back when I know something." He executed a small, formal bow, and let himself out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

" _Pauvre_ Henri," Rosa said, with a sorrowful shake of her head. "He will be kicking himself six ways to Sunday now over inviting Sébastien to join the delegation. I confess I wondered at his choice, myself, at the time. Not that there is any question of his expertise! He is at the forefront of French Rococo connoisseurs. But it is no secret he cannot work with Isabelle. She brings out the absolute worst in him." She scrutinized Bonnie's face, and, reassured by what she saw, smiled warmly, and gave Bonnie's thigh a congratulatory pat. "You have roses in your cheeks again. Feeling better? A little something to drink, perhaps? A wee pick-me-up?"

Bonnie's mouth was, indeed, dry from so much talking. "Some water would be good."

Bear did not wait for more; he went to a corner table where a selection of wines and liqueurs stood ready for guests who were no longer likely to stop by, and poured her a tumbler-full of water from a carafe. He stretched his amiability even so far as to fulfill Rosa's request for a small glass of Calvados. Having delivered their drinks, he returned to the drinks tray to help himself.

Having downed a refreshing swallow, Bonnie turned back to Rosa. "You said, just now, that Isabelle brings out the worst in Sébastien, but I've noticed he rubs her the wrong way, too. She's all poised and pleasant when he's not around, and then all snippy and snide when he is. Why can't they get along?"

"Do you really not know?" There was an odd mix of humor and pity in Rosa's expression. "I thought it must be evident to anyone with eyes: they are crazy for each other, those two, and have been since they met at university. Oh, they deny it to high heaven, of course, but you have only to see how they torture each other to see the truth."

Bonnie saw again, in her mind's eye, Isabelle leaning tenderly over the semi-recumbent Sébastien, their hands joined in securing his ice pack. "But, I don't understand… If they love each other, why do they act like they do?"

"Ah, thereby hangs a tale, my dear! I expect, at bottom, it all boils down to fear — of rejection, of inadequacy — on the one hand, and injured pride on the other. I know he has never felt quite in her league — she comes from a well-heeled, intellectual family, while he is of much humbler, bourgeois stock — and, for her part, his good looks made him such a favorite with the ladies, she never felt completely sure of her hold on his affections. So, what does she do but try to test his attachment by taking up with man from her own milieu, an innocuous fellow called Albert Auteuil."

"Her husband?"

"Eventually, yes. Sébastien, you see, thinking Auteuil more her equal, did the handsome thing, and let her go without a fight, a sacrifice Isabelle construed as indifference. And so it began, the endless cycle of her hitting out at him, and him retaliating, over and over. I cannot count the times I have been tempted to knock their fool heads together! They are utterly exhausting."

A sharp rap on the door announced Henri Perrin's return with the good news that Sébastien appeared to have taken no lasting harm, and, having been liberally dosed with painkillers, was resting comfortably enough. Invited in for a night-cap, Henri begged to be excused, citing the lateness of the hour and a strong inclination for his bed. He wished all a good night and a happier tomorrow, and retired to his room.

At an inquiring look from Bear, Bonnie nodded and rose, happy to note she was once again steady on her feet. "I think we'd best be going, too," she told Rosa.

"You're sure you're up to it? You are welcome to spend the night here, if you like. There's a second bed, and I have a nightgown to spare."

"No, thank you, Rosa. You've already been more than kind."

"I'll see Bonnie safely to her cousins," Bear promised, and then, to Bonnie, "Where do they live? Not that it matters…"

"In Georgetown."

He nodded. "That's on my way."

Rosa seemed to find this arrangement satisfactory, but still she stood irresolute a moment, her eyes on Bonnie. "Before you go, my dear, may I suggest you touch up your lipstick, and run a comb through your hair? You look less than your usual impeccable self."

Bonnie raised a self-conscious hand to the tendrils trailing loosely over her ear. "Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you, Rosa."

The woman who stared back at Bonnie from the brightly-lit mirror in the hotel bathroom was not the polished version who had critically assessed her appearance in the Jeffersonian washroom what felt like several days before. She made a few quick repairs to her make-up, and then shook out, combed and pulled her hair back in a fresh ponytail. Finally, deeming herself presentable enough to walk through a lobby without creating a stir, she returned to the main room to say her goodbyes.

She was just crossing the bedroom threshold when the sight of Bear and Rosa engaged in what appeared to be some kind of confrontation made her catch her breath and draw back out of view. Bear had been looming over Rosa, crowding her, and now his voice, as tight and hostile as his posture, carried across the room. "This doesn't change anything. Stay away from me, and stop trying to get to me through her."

Rosa managed only one word of entreaty before Bear erupted, " _Don't call me that!_ Whatever right you had, you gave up long ago."

Bonnie held very still, apprehending more, but the only sound to disturb the fraught silence was the rapid tattoo of her racing heart. She inhaled deeply for courage, straightened her shoulders, and, holding her clutch open before her, entered the room at speed rummaging through its depths. When she lifted her head, it was to find Rosa attempting a smile for her, and Bear at his most impassive. She did her best to summon an answering smile, and hurrying forward, said over-brightly, "There! All ready to face the world again!" She did not leave Rosa the opening for a reply, but leaned in and saluted her briskly on both cheeks. "Thank you again for everything." The words tumbled out of her mouth, too quickly. "I'll… ah, call you. About this weekend. Tomorrow."

Rosa's smile never wavered, but her eyes were sad. "I'll look forward to it. Good night, brave girl. Safe travels."

And then, mercifully, she and Bear were in the hall once more, the door closed at their backs. They moved off toward the elevator together, Bonnie, for lack of knowing what to say, saying nothing at all. It wasn't until Bear had pushed the call button, and they were standing side by side, waiting for the car, that he said calmly, "How much of that did you hear?"

She wished, then, with all her heart she was a better liar. "Some." Enough; it had only needed one word.

He nodded, resigned. "My middle name. It's Finn."

She spared a glance at him: he was intent upon the number line above the elevator. "I wasn't going to ask."

"You don't have to." The number 20 winked on, and then out; the light shone through 22. "My parents didn't hyphenate their names like yours did, but they still saddled me with both of theirs: Rudolph Finn Baer. Got quite the ring, hasn't it?"

That one word, said in heartfelt supplication: _Dolphin_. "It's you in the painting. You're the baby sandcastle architect, all grown up." He didn't deny it. Number 27 brightened, and the elevator doors slid open, revealing an empty car. Bonnie preceded Bear inside, saying over her shoulder, "So, Rosa was — what? — your babysitter? Your nanny?"

He let out a bark of bitter laughter, and stepping in beside her, jabbed the button for the lobby with unnecessary force. "Rosalie Vincent, aka Rosa Mundy, was, in fact, my caretaker for a while. Only she was Rosalie Baer, née Finn at the time." The elevator doors glided slowly inward and met with a muted crash. "She's my mother."

 **A/N:** with Thanksgiving on the horizon, I don't anticipate being able to post a new chapter next week. Apologies, and best wishes for a Happy Holiday.


	42. Chapter 42: Amends

42\. Amends

During the cab ride to Georgetown, Bear was reluctant to elaborate much on his startling revelation. He claimed not to know most of the particulars, and had no desire to remedy his ignorance. For all his childhood and well into his twenties, he had believed his mother was dead, and, although it had never been stated in so many words, the implication was strong that she had taken her own life. His father's "grief" had been such that all photos of his wife had been relegated to storage, if not outright destroyed, and it was understood that asking about her — what she'd been like, how she'd died — was to occasion the "widower" intolerable pain and was therefore not to be contemplated. After the "tragedy," father and son had gone to live with his grandmother Baer, and she had had the raising of him until her death shortly after his sixteenth birthday.

His father having never remarried or even shown much interest in the opposite sex, Bear had always seen him, rather romantically, as having remained faithful to his poor wife's memory, and had Karl Baer not been felled before his time by a massive heart attack, Bear might even yet have been operating under that false assumption. It was only upon going through his late father's personal effects that he had happened upon the letter from "Rosa Mundy" which revealed that not only was his mother very much alive, but his parents had not even divorced, despite Rosa's having urged Karl to institute proceedings on the grounds of desertion. Why his father had kept this damning letter, and whether he'd intentionally left it among his papers for his son to find were matters for speculation, but the fact was, Bear had found it, and with it, the defining episode of his family history had been exposed for what it was: a lie.

The kicker was that the letter did not date from shortly after the abandonment but a good fifteen years later, when Bear was a senior in high school. On the other side of the Atlantic, Rosa had begun making a name for herself as an artist, and, with her paintings commanding ever higher prices, she found herself in funds for the perhaps the first time in her life. The purpose of the letter had been to enclose a bank draft in the low six figures, a sum she ventured to hope would be useful in helping defray the costs of a university education, which she understood could be crippling, or, if that was not the path chosen, to give Bear a stake to invest in whatever endeavor he preferred. Bear would have liked to believe the check had been torn to shreds and the pieces returned to sender, but his father having always paid his tuition and fees without recourse to loans or financial aid argued against so appealing a notion.

"You were obviously in her thoughts," Bonnie pointed out, whether to comfort Bear or give Rosa her due, she could not have said. "She cared enough to do what she could to help you off to a great start."

But Bear was not disposed to be generous. "She was buying off a guilty conscience," he said. "As if any amount of money could make up for what she did!"

Rosa must have foreseen the futility of seeking forgiveness or understanding because the funds were offered without expectation of return, no strings attached. She assured Karl she had no plans to interfere in their son's life; she knew there was no coming back from the grave she had dug herself when she had encouraged Karl to think of her as dead. She asked only to be allowed to make this one contribution in complete anonymity, after which she promised never to impose on his notice again.

"So, when she approached you that time in Paris…"

"I had done enough research on Rosa Mundy to recognize her on sight. She had no idea I was on to her, though. _That_ came as a rude surprise." A note of grim satisfaction soured his voice.

A picture formed in Bonnie's mind of Rosa standing nervously in the aisle of the rapidly-emptying auditorium as other attendees crowded Bear, offering their congratulations and asking follow-up questions. Perhaps she had sat through the lecture in the very last row, happy enough only to see and hear from afar the man her little boy had become. She would not have made heads or tails of his paper for drinking in the welcome sight and sound of him, her heart swelling with bittersweet pride at his rough good looks and confident manner. Maybe, the talk over, she had been on the point of slipping away when the temptation of a closer look, a brief exchange had proved too strong, and she had found herself moving toward him rather than out the exit. She had waited out all the others so she could have him for a few moments to herself only to be blasted with years of pent-up hostility and scorn. It must have been devastating. "Did you give her any chance at all to explain?"

"No. Why would I? So she could tell more lies? Besides, there's nothing she could possibly say to justify her actions. I don't owe her the time of day."

Later, tucked up snugly in Sonny and Adele's guest bedroom, Bonnie could not sleep for the thoughts and questions tumbling through her mind. She, whose sense of self and security was rooted in a tight-knit, loving family, could only boggle at the enormity of the betrayal Bear had suffered, and if anger and intransigence were his means of coping with that pain, it was not for her or anyone else to fault him. Nor, given his history, was it any wonder he was slow to trust others and quick to suspect the worst of them. When your own parents deceive you, who can you believe?

She understood, and she felt heartsick for him, but she was not prepared, on that account, to see Rosa as a thorough villain. Her own family background taught her that, while there is no more grievous offense than a parent's abandoning a child, there is always the possibility of mitigating circumstances and unsuspected grounds for compassion. Karl Baer might have been like her great-grandfather Booth, a violent man who physically abused his wife to the point where she had to choose between staying with her sons or preserving her own life. Or, unlikely as it seemed, Rosa might, like Max and Ruth Keenan, have disappeared and assumed a new identity in order to avoid exposing her loved ones to malefactors from her past. Bonnie felt practically certain something dire had forced Rosa to her desperate measure, and, while the evening's events had proved her not the best judge of character, she did not think she was wrong about Rosa's basic decency and good heart. Bear might have no interest in Rosa's side of the story, but Bonnie would not refuse a sympathetic ear if Rosa volunteered to share it, and, in the event she never did, Bonnie was determined to refrain from passing judgment. It was, in the end, none of her affair, and on that comforting realization, she finally drifted off to sleep.

It was only the next morning as she readied for work that Bonnie realized she had spared few if any thoughts to her regrettable tussle with Sébastien. Her preoccupation with Bear and Rosa's situation had distracted her powerfully from that unpleasantness, but, as she made her way to the Jeff and a likely encounter with Sébastien, Isabelle, or both at once, she could think of little else. Never having caused anyone physical harm, she had no idea what to expect, but more than enough remorse to anticipate any number of embarrassing scenarios. She easily pictured volatile Isabelle giving her a very public cold shoulder, or treating her to an ugly scene, and as for Sébastien, she imagined him, limping and disfigured, reproaching her long and loud, or, what was more worrisome, lodging a complaint against her. One thing was certain: whatever awaited her in that quarter was bound to be exceedingly awkward.

In the event, she was not obliged to remain in suspense very long. She had no sooner entered the workroom than Gabby greeted her with the news that Dr. Cummings had been looking for her and had left word she was to report to his office immediately upon arrival. "Not the best morning to be running late," Gabby said, hovering nearby as Bonnie stored her bag away. "I've got to say, he had a real stormy vibe about him. What's going on? Something happen last night?"

Bonnie's heart sank. She was, apparently, about to be called on the carpet, but, oddly enough, knowing this outcome, however unfortunate, went a long way to calming her nerves. If she was to be reproved, she very much preferred to face the fire at once and get it over with. She forced a reassuring smile for Gabby. "Tell you later."

On her way to the stairs, she noticed Bear was not in his office and wondered if he, too, had received a summons. If he were present, she knew he would take her side, and with that prospect to steady her, she paused before Dr. Cummings' door only long enough to straighten her spine and square her shoulders. She knocked smartly, twice in succession, and, on being enjoined to enter, let herself in. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Dr. Cummings looked up at her from behind his desk, the warmth and humor Bonnie had come to associate with him conspicuously absent from his expression. With a flick of his eyes, he directed her attention to the farther of his visitors' chairs, and Bonnie, half-expecting Bear to have arrived before her, was doubly chagrined to see Sébastien struggling unsuccessfully to rise from its depths. She took an involuntary step back toward the door, and froze. Dr. Cummings was beside her in a moment, a supportive hand on her arm. "I understand completely, my dear, and no one's going to force you to stay against your will, but Beaumont here insists on making his apologies, so I leave it to you. Will you hear the man out? You're under no obligation to do so."

Sébastien had given up trying to clamber to his feet, and sat with his body angled in her direction, a pair of oversized sunglasses hiding much of his face. He was, for a man of his fashion sense, carelessly attired in an unremarkable tan suit over a plain white shirt, no silk tie, no trendy scarf at the open neck. "I won't keep you long," he promised quietly as she appeared to hesitate. "Please."

"I'll be here the whole time to guarantee his good behavior," Dr. Cummings assured her. "I won't leave you alone with him."

The very idea of Dr. Cummings' sitting in on a detailed rehash of the evening's fiasco was mortification enough for Bonnie. "Thank you, sir, but that isn't necessary. I trust M. Beaumont to keep his distance."

Cummings fixed her with a searching look. "You're sure? If you have any qualms at all… Very well, then," he said, when she shook her head decidedly. "I'll just step out in the hall, and return a few phone calls. I'll be in shouting range, if you need me." He shot a last admonitory scowl Sébastien's way, and walked out, leaving the office door open behind him.

"Won't you sit down?" Sébastien asked, as Bonnie continued to stand, shifting from foot to foot. "I am aware you owe me no consideration, but it would be easier for me to say my piece if I didn't have to crane my neck up at you the whole time."

Bonnie settled herself on the edge of the companion chair. Closer to, Sébastien's features looked pale and drawn. "How are you feeling? You know…" She circled a hand over the middle of her face.

In response, he slowly pulled the sunglasses off and exposed the damage. It was not so terrible as Bonnie had feared, but it was glaring: a stripe of red-purple bruising ran under both eyes and over a lightly-swollen nose, and the flesh over his cheek bones was puffy and pink. "Oh, Sébastien!" Bonnie gasped, horrified at the injury she'd inflicted. "I am _so_ sorry!"

"No, Bonnie! You must not apologize. That blow was the best thing to happen to me in a long time! You might have squashed my nose past recognition, and still I would feel the same. I'm only sorry someone didn't see fit to clobber me many years ago."

Bonnie's fretful imagination had produced a variety of possible reactions, but this had not figured among them. "I... I don't understand."

"You see, after you and Baer left, and Isa stayed behind, we talked, she and I, openly, honestly for the first time in… forever. It might have been the wine, or the pain, or her sympathy — who can say? — all I can tell you is it all came pouring out of me like a flood, everything I had held dammed up in my heart for so long. I told her, as I had never had the courage to do before, how very much I love her, have always loved her, how all the other women I have been with were but poor consolation for not having her in my life. I spoke without hope or purpose other than to unburden myself at long last, to have done with the constant denying and hiding what I felt, and, do you know, Bonnie, just when I thought all was lost, that was when I gained all, because, would you believe, she confessed that she loves me, too, and has done since first we met. I never thought I could pity Albert Auteuil, but they were already married when he came to realize the truth, which is why they divorced after only a few years." Sébastien's eyes were suspiciously bright, and his smile was tired and slightly abashed. "We talked all night, straight through to sun up. All the misunderstandings, the false fronts, the bravado — cleared away as we talked and talked and talked. It was a magical, life-changing night, and would not have happened but for your knocking me flat. I can't thank you enough, Bonnie."

Bonnie was at something of a loss as to how to respond to this; her first impulse — 'you're welcome' — didn't seem quite right. "Well, I'm glad you and Isabelle were able to work out your differences. At least something good came out of the whole snafu."

"Something wonderful," he amended. "And a far greater reward than I deserve. You don't have to say so; I know it's true. When I think of the way I acted, the things I did…" A shudder of revulsion ran through him. "Let's call a spade a spade: I have behaved like a cad. I took advantage of your good nature, misled you as to my intentions, and practically assaulted you." He leaned a little toward her, a beseeching look in his eye. "I hope you believe I never would have forced you, Bonnie, even drunk as I was. I was too pushy, yes, but if you'd continued to resist, I would have let you go."

"I believe that, Sébastien; I do. I think I reacted so violently out of frustration, not so much with you but with myself for being so stupid and reckless. You were up front about being a leopard. I had no business believing you'd changed your spots."

"Maybe not, but the breach of trust is still mine. I do not know that you can ever forgive me, but please believe I am heartily sorry for the embarrassment and distress I've caused you. I have not been as good a friend I pretended to be, but, if you will allow, I will do better in the future. If I can help you in any way, personally, professionally, you must call on me, and I will do my very best for you. For now, by way of amends, knowing your great interest in the Lavallière photos, I engage to forward them by the end of the day to whatever account you specify. You need only give me the address."

Bonnie's spirits soared for a moment at the offer, but then she remembered. "The non-disclosure agreement…"

He regarded her sheepishly. "A lie. Part of the plot to lure you to my room. What can I say?" he added defensively, as she looked at him askance. "I've played at love so long, the moves are automatic." He smiled then, a quiet joy suffusing his battered, swollen face. "Those bad old days are all behind me now, thank God. From this day forward, love won't ever be just a game for me. At last, at long last!"


	43. Chapter 43: Consultation

43\. Consultation

Rosalie Vincent had been right all those weeks before: the Jeffersonian's announcement of finding a long-lost masterpiece among its donations caused a great stir, and not only in the art world. Recognizing the general public's fascination with hidden-treasure stories, all manner of media outlets had jumped on the news-bandwagon, and, by evening, the fabulous multi-million discovery had been broadcast far and wide.

Bonnie had been kept too busy during and immediately after the press conference to check her email and messages, and so, it was only at her work day's end that she found her in-box and voice mail crammed with texts and messages from family, friends and acquaintances. Most everyone limited themselves to expressing excitement for her and best wishes going forward, while others, her brothers and Eddie principally, marveled that she had not burst with the news some time ago. Trev had texted, "I get now why you've been so preoccupied! This is really big! Can't wait to hear all about it. Call me." To her irritation, there was even a message from Wicks-Sweet, looking, as ever, to trade on their connection for an exclusive interview with an Institute insider. She deleted his request without a second thought.

Of the file containing the Lavallières' photos, there was as yet no sign. When, the press conference concluded, the French lovebirds had stopped to say their last goodbyes, Sébastien had reiterated his promise to forward the photos to her, and Isabelle, so in charity with the world and all its creatures as to embrace Bonnie warmly on both cheeks in farewell, assured her that she would not fail to remind him if, in his besotted state, he should forget. With that, Bonnie had to be content.

More calls came in during her homeward commute. Freya Wyndham-Pryce phoned to say how very pleased she and the Senator were to hear of the Jeff's good fortune and their dear Bonnie's share in it. Vanna Greeley had already checked out the Institute channel's accompanying video and wanted to congratulate Bonnie on her poise and clear, unaffected presentation. Her aunt Annalise playfully predicted that, given the strength of her on-camera debut, she would soon become a media darling, and the latest celebrity in the family. "Hank says to tell you he's very proud of you, hon."

Her Grandpa B echoed much the same sentiment when she dropped by his room after a quick supper of reheated leftovers. "Beauty and brains, just like your grandmother," he said, pointing with the remote to the flat screen where her interview was playing, not, Bonnie suspected, for the first time. "I wish she could be here to see this. It was her work, by and large, that made the Jeff a premier institution, and she would be pleased as punch that you're following in her footsteps."

Bonnie curled up beside him on the couch, and, taking one of his hands in hers, leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I miss her, too, Gramps. Every day. But she's always in my heart, you know? Inspiring me, guiding by example. All I've ever wanted is to be a credit to her, to both of you."

Her grandfather gave her hand a loving pat. "You've never been anything but, Bonbon. Or, at least not since you grew out of the bad habit of biting other children."

She opened her mouth to suggest he might have confused her with her mother, but she didn't want to risk upsetting him over something so trivial, and embarked instead on a recital of her latest doings (the expurgated version). He was, as she'd anticipated, intrigued to learn of Angela's portrait, and, not above being flattered by a world-class artist's interest in meeting him, amenable to taking in the show some time over the weekend. The hour having grown late, Bonnie lost no time in phoning Rosa to settle the details.

"Bonnie!" Rosa looked out at her from the vid-screen, her smile tentative, her gaze almost shy. "I'm so glad you called. I was beginning to think you wouldn't." The question Did he tell you? was there to read in her eyes, her uncertain expression.

"I apologize for calling so late," she said, trying to signal with her usual cordial manner that nothing had changed between them. "I've only just had a chance to talk with my grandfather, you see. He's looking forward to meeting you, and seeing your paintings, particularly the one of Grammy A. Is tomorrow good for you, or is Sunday better?"

The tension eased visibly from Rosa's shoulders, and she rewarded Bonnie with a smile of mingled gratitude and relief. "I'm not one for postponing treats, my dear, so let it be tomorrow, by all means. It would be my pleasure to give you and Mr. Booth lunch beforehand or dinner after, as you prefer. There is an excellent Italian eatery close by."

They left it that they would rendezvous at the gallery late in the afternoon, and go on to dinner or drinks if, after touring the exhibition, Booth decided he had sufficient stamina. "I shall make a reservation, just in case," Rosa said. "À demain, cherie!"

As she already had her vid-screen in hand, Bonnie stole a quick glance at her inbox, and there, finally, was the long-awaited email from Sébastien. Her fingers hovered over the display, itching to swipe the message open, but, out of respect for her grandfather, she clicked the screen off instead, and reluctantly put the device down.

Looking up, she found her momentary struggle had not escaped his watchful eye. "Go on," he said, "read it. Or play it. Or whatever it is you need to do."

"Really, Gramps, it's nothing that can't wait."

"I don't mind," he insisted. "And anyway, I've been meaning to check on the ball game. The Nats are going for their eighth straight, and their ace is on the mound." He picked up the remote, and, turning the flat-screen back on, flipped to the game, ending further discussion.

Bonnie watched the action long enough to ascertain that the game was a nail-biter: after six innings, neither team had managed to score, and the Nats' pitcher was on pace for a no-hitter. It was sports drama at its finest, and Gramps was immediately engrossed.

She retrieved her vid-screen then, and, dropping into an armchair a little ways off, pulled up the forwarded message. She expected to see only the file attachment but there was text as well: Sébastien had thought to include contact information not only for his assistant Armand but also for Félicien and Aurélie Lavallière, owners of the paintings. "I do not know if they will respond to direct inquiries," he had written, "but you can try them, especially if you remain curious about the six remaining paintings. Bonne chance."

She scrolled quickly though the first five photos, opting to return to the promising nursery scene after she'd had her first glimpse of the sixth. What she saw gave her no reason to regret her decision: the last painting was, perhaps, the most beautiful and evocative of them all. The principal figure, a solitary young woman richly dressed in pale pink satin and ivory lace, was pictured standing in profile before the trunk of a stately oak, its branches arching over her and throwing most of her body into shadow. With no other companion than the little spaniel who stared up at her devotedly, the woman, little more than an adolescent really, worked at carving letters into the tree; the initials "M. L." had already been completed as had a simple cross immediately below them. Head slightly bowed, expression absorbed, she held her small knife against the bark as if to begin the next letters, though she might, equally, have been hesitating, hardly daring to bare her heart, even in so secluded a spot. The figure's isolation suggested a need for privacy, and the somber color palette lent the scene a melancholy air. This was a woman, Bonnie thought, whose love could not be openly declared, who could only express it where no one was likely to see. If, as the letters hinted, the painter's inspiration was Madeleine Lavallière, would the next have been "E. B.," the initials of her married lover?

As she went back over the photos in reverse order, it struck Bonnie that the series formed a timeline of sorts: Madeleine by the tree was, perhaps, only recently established in Picardy as Blanchard's mistress, while, in the nursery painting, she had become the mother of his illegitimate son, and in the amusing vignette by the pond, she was the countrywoman dealing with her rambunctious boy while her ever-faithful brown and white spaniel explored the marshy bank. The figure tilling the field and the elderly man in the portrait probably represented the tenant farmer who had been prevailed upon in some way or other to take Madeleine as his wife. If his unflinching gaze and tight-lipped mouth were any indication, he must have been a dour, unfriendly sort of man. Bonnie found herself hoping he had not made Madeleine's day-to-day life a living hell.

She swiped back to the nursery painting, where, it was true, Madeleine looked radiantly happy bending over the cradle of her ruddy-cheeked infant. Her profile was, without doubt, striking in its beauty, but unless it proved identical to the one in La Coupe d'amour, it could hold no real interest for her. She enlarged the area of the mother's face, and studied the curve of the brow, the shape of the nose, the full cheeks, and rounded chin. The features were the same, she could have sworn it, but she was only too aware of the power of wishful thinking. She would have to prepare a transparency of the Lebrun profile and lay it over this other…

"Bad news?" Glancing up, she saw her grandfather regarding her with mild concern. "Commercial break," he explained, indicating the ad currently playing on the screen. "What's got you frowning?"

"Well, since you ask…" She restored the photo to its original size, and, returning to the couch, handed him the vid-screen. "What do you think of this painting?"

He took the device willingly enough, and gave the image his full consideration. "I'm no connoisseur, but it looks pretty masterful to me. A bit sentimental for my taste, but I do like the subject matter… Wait!" As she had done before him, he zoomed in on the mother's face. "This is her, isn't it? The woman who posed for Lebrun's painting."

Bonnie could hardly speak for delight. "You see it too, then, Gramps? It's not just me?"

He examined the detail again. "She's a little older here, I'd say, but not much. Is this another Lebrun painting? One that's not so well known?"

"No, it's by Eugène Blanchard. Remember him?"

"Wasn't he the guy who broke Lebrun's heart by walking out on him?"

Bonnie caught the teasing glint in her grandfather's eye, and shook her head in mock remonstrance. "That theory never held water. Anyway, it turns out this woman — Madeleine Lavallière — was Blanchard's mistress."

"While she was posing for Lebrun?"

"No. Or, at least, I don't think so. I expect they both met her about the same time, probably in Paris when they returned from their travels. Then, because they both wanted her, she wound up causing the rift between them."

He thought it over, and nodded. "A romantic triangle. Nothing uncommon in that. Any ideas why she'd've chosen Blanchard?"

"Apart from loving him back, you mean? From a pragmatic point of view, he was the bigger catch: wealthy enough not to have to paint for a living, and in line for a title to boot. If that was the motivation, she made the right choice: he took good care of her while he was living, and left her financially secure on his death."

Booth's eyebrows shot up in admiration. "That's a good piece of sleuthing you've done there, Sweet Tart. I'm impressed."

"I appreciate the attagirl, Gramps, but it's not like I did a whole lot of digging. One of the visiting French experts just happened to know a lot about Blanchard."

"You asked the right person the right question, didn't you? Sometimes, that's half the battle."

She conceded the point, if only to capitalize on it. "That being the case, and you being a seasoned investigator, let me ask you this: how do I go about finding a solid link between Madeleine and Lebrun? What's my next step?"

"Well, let's see… You've got a name, so that's something. Anything else?"

"I know where she was living beginning in about 1776, and that she married a local man."

"All right, then! Even with the little you've got, you can probably locate the record of that marriage on one of those on-line genealogical sites. You'd be surprised at how chock-full of information some of those marriage registers can be. You'll find the bride's maiden name for sure, and maybe even her place of birth and the names of her parents. That's where I'd start."

Bonnie looked at her grandfather with undisguised wonder. "How do you know all that?"

He shrugged, ever modest. "A person doesn't get to be my age without learning a thing or two along the way."

That jogged a sudden recollection. "You know who's a real whiz at that kind of research? Grammy A's old friend, Richard de Clermont. He heads up some genealogical society or other, and what's more, if I remember right, his family roots are in Picardy."

"Now you're cookin'! And how about that other fellow, the one who wrote that chapter on Lebrun? He might be interested in helping you out. He's the one who raised the question of what happened to Lebrun, after all."

Michel Doucette hadn't replied the last time Bonnie reached out to him, but she did not let that discourage her. Once she laid out her theory and the supporting evidence she'd gathered so far, he was bound to be as intrigued as she was. She felt a sudden surge of optimism. "You know what, Gramps? I do believe I'm going to get to the bottom of this mystery yet."

"If the answer's there to be found, you'll find it, Bonbon. You're not a Booth-Hodgins for nothing!"


	44. Chapter 44: Nightmare

44\. Nightmare

The forest was ghostly about her, the dark trees, leaves, and branches vanishing and reappearing in turn as tatters of a pearly mist wafted through. She stepped closer to the massive beech, grateful for the shelter of its overarching boughs. With her free hand, she traced the straight lines and curves she had managed to cut into the smooth, gray bark: B B-H with a simple cross below. Crude work, admittedly, but functional. She raised her knife again, and, digging its tip into the living wood, scored the vertical line of the next letter. A bar across the top should come next, she knew, with more slashing lines to follow, and yet, she lacked the heart to make those simple cuts. She held the knife tip against the tree, as other, more rounded letters obtruded, insistent, on her mind. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, but still the letters remained. A high-pitched whine pierced the silence, and, glancing down, she saw her loyal pup staring up at her with liquid, troubled eyes. He shifted restlessly from paw to paw, as if sharing her distress. Gathering her resolve, she tried changing her grip on the hilt, only to have the knife slip through her numb fingers, and plunge toward the thick tangle of roots at her feet…

Bonnie sat up with a cry, her hands wild in the tumbled bed clothes. _She couldn't lose her knife. She needed it_. In the darkness, the nightmare forest persisted several moments, but then the familiar contours of her room took shape around her, and she realized it had all been a dream, a very bad dream. That awful feeling of paralysis, of helpless indecision! She shook it off as best she could, and, curling up once more under her blanket, listened as her heart slowed to its normal beating, by which time sleep had claimed her once again…

High on Bonnie's agenda later that same morning was getting her Grammy A on the phone, but, in her enthusiasm to congratulate her granddaughter on the previous day's exciting news, Angela called while Bonnie was still in her pajamas. "You've probably already heard this many times by now, but I have to be allowed my turn: you handled your interview brilliantly! You were informative without being pedantic or overly technical. And you looked perfectly stunning! That handwoven wrap was just the right artsy touch. It seems to me I used to have one very like it."

Bonnie acknowledged the subtle hit. "It was very generous of you to part with it, Gram."

"I'm only teasing, sweetie. Better you should be getting some use out of it than it sits around in one of my drawers. Now, tell me more about _La Coupe d'amour_. How much of the practical treatment are they allowing you to do?"

Bonnie described the contributions she'd been able to make, and then, seeing her opening, added, "I'm actually pursuing a side inquiry of my own into the making of the painting, and could use your help, Gram."

Angela brightened with immediate interest. "Really? What can I do?"

"You could ask your friend de Clermont to do a little genealogical research for me." She outlined briefly the events she suspected accounted for the dramatic change in the painting's progress and the consequent importance of learning more about Madeleine Lavallière.

"As favors go, you couldn't ask for anything more up Richard's alley! Family trees, lines of descent, those are the things he lives and breathes for. I'm sure he'll be delighted to look into it. And, you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn he's even distantly related to that Baron Blanchard you mentioned. I believe, once upon a time, local noble families intermarried as a matter of course. They're probably cousins many times removed." She regarded Bonnie shrewdly. "I suppose you'd like an answer sooner rather than later."

"Well… yes, but if it's a bother…"

"Just the opposite, if I don't miss my guess! Richard jumps at any excuse to go digging through old records, and then, to do so at my express request! Let's just say he's likely to be _aux anges_! As luck would have it, I'll be seeing him tonight. I'm hosting a small dinner party, nothing fancy, just a few friends. I'll put him right on it."

"Thanks, Gram. I appreciate it."

Angela waved this away. "My pleasure, sweetie. So, what are your plans for the weekend? Is that handsome devil Trev taking you out on the town tonight?"

"We're getting together tomorrow." Bonnie had returned Trev's call during her commute home, blithely expecting him to be free on a Saturday night, but it turned out he already had an engagement. As to the kind and with whom, he was uncharacteristically mysterious. "I'm going to take a second look at Rosa Mundy's exhibition this afternoon, and, speaking of which, Gram, imagine my shock at turning a corner, and finding a portrait of you hanging on the wall! I nearly spilled champagne all over myself."

Angela chuckled. "I hope it was, at least, a pleasant surprise. I'm not going to ask if you liked the painting, _chérie_ , because how could you not? Technically, it's brilliant. But, don't you think Rosa flattered your old Gram a little too much?"

"What? No! She caught you to the life, Gram, just the way I see you. The likeness is so true, and so beautiful I knew Gramps would want to see it, too. He's coming with me to the gallery, and after, if he feels up to it, we're going out for drinks and maybe dinner with Rosa."

This announcement gave Angela pause, and while her smile never faltered, it dimmed just a little, and the look in her eyes was suddenly more guarded. "So, you and Rosa are…" She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. "… getting along?"

Bonnie had inherited none of her Grammy A's looks, but one trait they shared in common was a certain inability to hide their feelings. Despite her grandmother's efforts at concealment, it was plain to Bonnie she was afraid for her old friend. "You know, don't you, about her having a son. And you're wondering if I know, too."

Angela released a small sigh. "Rosa thought you'd figured it out, but she wasn't really sure." At Bonnie's frown of confusion, she explained, "She called me yesterday to talk over what happened. I wish, for her sake, it hadn't gone so badly. I feel partly responsible."

Bonnie could not imagine what her grandmother could have had to do with it. "How so?"

"It all goes back to the day Michael Vincent dropped in out of the blue when I was sitting for Rosa. You have to understand: he hadn't said word one about coming to Paris. Your father and his love of surprises! Anyway, there he was, suddenly striding into my workroom, a huge grin on his face and an enormous bouquet of fresh flowers in his arms. Well, I absolutely fell on his neck, of course, and we just stood there, laughing for joy and hugging and talking over each other the way we always do. It was a moment or two before I even remembered Rosa was in the room. She told me later how painful it was for her to watch us together, seeing the love and devotion she might have enjoyed with her own son if her life had played out differently. After her first attempts at reaching out failed, she'd resolved to put any hope of reconciliation behind her, but Michael Vincent's visit brought all the old longing back to the surface, and made her decide to give it one last try, with, unfortunately, the same sad result."

"You know Rosa's whole story, then?"

Angela nodded. "She told me only recently, though, during my very last sitting. I was so riveted by what she was saying, she didn't have to remind me once not to move. Really, I had no idea how hard a time of it she had growing up, or what was really behind her leaving the States forever. And it's no use your asking for particulars," she said sternly, although Bonnie had yet to so much as open her mouth. "It's not my story to tell. I don't think she'd mind my saying this much, however: she left her son not because she didn't love him, but because she feared for his safety."

Bonnie's breath caught in her throat. Even though she'd entertained just such a possibility, she'd considered it highly improbable. "Bear was in danger?"

"That's how she saw it at the time, yes." Angela grimaced apologetically. "I've said more than I should. It's up to Rosa to decide who should know, and how much to reveal. I think, though, if you gave her the opportunity, she'd open up to you. For some reason, she believes she owes you some sort of explanation."

"She doesn't, not at all, but, if she wants to talk, I'm more than willing to listen."

Angela inclined her head, satisfied. "You'll give her a fair hearing, I know. It's too bad — what did you call him? Baer? — can't do the same. He might, at least, give her a chance." She sighed again, at once grieved by the regrettable impasse, and philosophical about it. The sadness slowly ebbed away, to be replaced by a look of mild curiosity. "What's he like, Rosa's Baer? You've worked with him a while, now. Does he take after her in any way? I don't mean in the looks department. She's already mentioned he's the spitting image of his dad. I mean, character-wise. What do you think of him?"

What, indeed? A few months before, Bonnie would have answered easily: "He's a rude, condescending jerk with entirely too high an opinion of himself." But she'd had enough glimpses past his stony exterior in the interim to know he was not hard and arrogant down to the core. He might even have a gooey, vulnerable center, if his dealings with Danny and Isabelle were any guide. And then, there were those rare moments when she looked into his eyes, and saw… she hardly dared give the emotion a name, but there was nothing cold or detached about it. She was practically certain he cared about her to some extent, but how much and how willingly it was possible she might never know. Life had taught him the high cost of misplaced confidence, and he had made the choice, if she read him right, to keep all others at arm's length rather than pay that price again. Danny was his one weakness, the only person to be freely admitted into his heavily-protected heart. What future was there for her with such a mistrustful, closed-off man?

"Bonnie…?"

The adjective "unsuitable" presented itself anew, but that was not something she could say to her sharp-witted grandmother. "He's… complicated."


	45. Chapter 45: Hike, Part I

45\. Hike, Part I

Bonnie had long been aware that she was not Trevor Wyndham-Pryce's only passion. A large part of his heart was reserved for a classic Tesla Roadster he'd acquired some years before in sadly run-down shape and lovingly restored bit by bit to pristine condition. At some point in the process, the sleek little sports car had taken on a personality all her own, and had come to be christened 'Tessie.' Trev positively doted on his mechanical darling, and spared no time or expense in maintaining her outer appearance and inner workings in tip-top form. Bonnie was entirely convinced he had a softer spot for Tessie than for some of the people in his life.

From her vantage point atop the outer stairs, Bonnie smiled to see the stylish silver car roll noiselessly up the drive, its roof retracted and a beaming Trev at the wheel. The day had dawned sunny, and, according to the forecast, would continue exceptionally fine with temperatures in the 70s and zero chance of precipitation: perfect weather for putting Tessie through her paces on the open road. Bonnie picked up her day pack and stepped off toward the car, feeling somewhat heavy-footed in her sturdy hiking shoes. Trev leaned across the center console at her approach and pushed the passenger door open for her. "Morning," she said, squeezing into the narrow confines of the bucket seat and kissing him briefly in greeting. "You made good time. How's the old girl running?"

Trev patted the dashboard fondly. "Like a champ. Got her from zero to sixty in less than five seconds." He took in her cargo shorts, long-sleeved tee, and bandanna head scarf, and nodded approvingly. "So… got everything you need? Water? Sun screen?"

"In my pack. I've got bug spray, too, though we shouldn't need it this early in the season. And snacks, of course." She fastened her seat belt and settled in for the ride. "Where're we headed?"

He put the car in gear, and steered round the circle toward the gate. "How about Great Falls? We haven't been there in a while."

"Super! I was thinking along the same lines, actually, unless you're talking about the Maryland side! I'm not ready to tackle Billy Goat Trail again."

Trev chuckled. "Those steep sections were a little daunting. We'll leave it for later on this summer, and do an easier hike today. What do you say to doing the River Trail down the gorge and Matildaville Trail back?"

They discussed the various options and had agreed on a provisional itinerary by the time Trev turned onto the highway entrance ramp. He lost no time in revving the engine and bringing Tessie up to speed, merging smoothly into traffic and weaving through a file of driverless vehicles into the far left lane. From that point, and as long as the ribbon of road unspooled beneath them, their exchanges were limited to Trev's occasional shouts of "Too much wind?" or "You doing okay?" and Bonnie's emphatic nods or calls of "Fine!" In truth, she was unmercifully buffeted by the air streaming over the windshield, and had to clamp a hand on her kerchief to keep it from blowing off her head, but Trev's pleasure at driving Tessie's 288 horses was so transparent she would not have complained for the world. He seemed almost to laugh at the wind that whipped his cropped blond hair, and as they raced along, there was such sheer jubilation in his grin and in the flash of his blue eyes when he shot a glance her way, she could not help but answer smile for smile. The rational part of her mind argued she should be terrified at traveling so far above the posted speed limit, and with a fallible human being at the controls, but it was Trev in the driver's seat, and she trusted his skill absolutely. There was always the chance they'd be pulled over by the state police and issued a ticket, but that was the worst that could happen.

All too soon, signs for their exit appeared on the horizon, and Trev was obliged to rein Tessie in. Their exhilarating dash on the highway behind them, they were reduced, first, to poking along on the remaining local-road stretch of the trip, and then, as they drew closer to the National Park's entrance, to crawling until, finally, they found themselves at a virtual stop, the latest car in a long line moving by fits and starts toward the ticket gate. "It's backed up way earlier than I expected," Trev grumbled. "We've got a good fifteen minute wait, if not more."

"This isn't bad at all. Remember last time? We were stuck for half an hour at least."

"Right! Leaf-peeping season. The place was packed." He sighed, and leaned back in his seat, resigned. "So… did you wind up going into town yesterday with your grandfather like you planned?"

"I did, but not just with Gramps. At the last minute, my mother invited herself along. She knew all about Grammy A's portrait — turns out my father told her months ago and she never thought to mention it!"

"Well, you have to admit your grandmother's a popular subject…"

"For her protégés and sundry starving artists, but Rosa Mundy's in a completely different category. Anyway, Mom'd only seen pictures of the work in progress, and wanted to see the finished painting for herself."

"And the verdict?"

"Oh, she loved it, and Gramps, too. Good thing there was a bench nearby, because they just wanted to sit and admire it." Bonnie had taken advantage of their absorption to wander off by herself, and had been re-examining _Dolphin_ when Rosa came up to stand beside her. Bonnie had left it to her companion to break the silence or not. When Rosa eventually did, it was not, however, to broach any of the topics Bonnie anticipated.

"I imagine my grandson looked much the same as an infant," she said, on a wistful note. "That's how it generally is with Baers: the sons take after the father. There's a strong resemblance between Rudolph and Danny, don't you find?"

Caught off guard, Bonnie swung round to stare. "How do you…?"

"I saw them together in this very gallery the night of your painting exhibition. You didn't see me, but I was here much of the time. I had to keep a low profile, of course; Rudolph would have stormed out at the first sight of me, and I was content enough just to watch them for a distance. I noticed you and Danny seemed to get on particularly well. I was hoping I might get the chance to meet him, but…" She shrugged, conceding the foolishness of such hope. "While we have these few minutes to ourselves, would you tell me something about the little fellow? Is he as sweet a child as he looks?"

Bonnie was able to reassure Rosa on that head, and her glowing report as to Danny's intelligence and artistic talent brought a proud, if bittersweet, smile to his grandmother's lips. And that, as it happened, was to prove their only private moment of the evening. "Gramps and Rosa hit it off like gangbusters," she told Trev as Tessie inched closer to the bumper in front of them. "She treated him like a celebrity, and, well, you know Gramps: he's always had a weakness for flattering female company. Over dinner, she got him talking about the old days, prompting him with what she'd heard from Grammy A, and asking him if it was all true, or what was his side of it, and off he'd go, regaling her with yet another tale. I've heard all the stories before, of course, but Gramps was in rare form last night, and kept us all hugely entertained. It was really great to see him so animated and enjoying himself for a change."

"Sounds like a fun evening, but not half as fun, I'm thinking, as the dinner you missed out on the other night."

Bonnie eyed him suspiciously. "You're joking, I take it. I've never know your office parties to be anything but dull."

"You mean _tasteful_ and _dignified_ ," he said, cutting her a roguish sidelong look. "As retirement dinners go, it was your pretty standard stuff: unappetizing banquet fare, long-winded testimonials, the gold watch presentation and a never-ending farewell speech. Kilpatrick's always been something of a gasbag, but he really outdid himself on his way out the door. I started fantasizing, at about the twenty minute mark, about a large hook appearing out of nowhere and yanking him away, like used to happen to bad vaudeville acts."

"Poor baby," Bonnie cooed, half-sympathetic, half-amused. "I'm sorry you had such an awful time."

"But here's the thing: I didn't, on the whole. The main event was boring, and the food wasn't very good, but our table was lively all night, thanks to Vanna. That girl sure has a way about her. She has this crazy knack for putting people at ease, and getting them to open up to her. You remember Anika Patel, Navin's wife? The one who never makes a peep? Vanna managed to draw her out, and you know what? Once Anika got going, she had a lot to say for herself. The other women round the table, too. Before long, everyone was joining in, with Vanna keeping the conversational ball rolling whenever it seemed to bog down. It was lighthearted, get-acquainted-type talk for the most part, though Vanna did work in a pitch for that cause of hers, Girls, Unlimited. I wouldn't be surprised to hear they took in half a dozen new contributions Friday morning. I can tell you she made quite a few conquests by evening's end."

Bonnie could only shake her head in appreciation. "Leave it to Vanna to turn lemons into lemonade! I swear, if she put her mind to it, she could charm birds right out of the trees. I hope you were suitably grateful to her for bailing you out."

"You know it. I ordered her roses, and sent a sizable check to her charity, too." The ticket gate had come into view. Trev reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his annual pass and held it at the ready.

"You sent her _roses_?" Bonnie found his flower choice perplexing, even mildly disquieting. " _Red_ roses?"

"Red? No, of course not. Why would I do that? The florist told me it's yellow for friendship. Red is for love."


	46. Chapter 46: Hike, Part II

46\. Hike, Part II

Trev parked Tessie in the far corner of the lot furthest from the Visitors' Center, and, with Bonnie's help, fit her custom Sunbrella car cover over her for good measure. That done, they shouldered their day packs and moved off by unspoken accord toward the viewing platforms overlooking the Falls. The wide, well-trodden path down to the Potomac was already thronged with locals and tourists, most of whom, to judge by the sandals on their feet and the disposable coffee cups in their hands, would not be venturing far from the public walkways and picnicking grounds. Over their loud talk and noisy high spirits, the continuous roar of water breaking over rock could be heard, growing ever more thunderous until, around a last bend, the magnificent cascades came into sight.

It was not yet so crowded along the platform rail that they couldn't find a spot to look out over the turbulent river. Only fifteen miles downstream, the Potomac flowed placidly through the District, but in this section of the park, it raged against the rocky islands barring its passage, frothing white as it poured over and between boulders and crashed into stone, throwing plumes of spray high into the air. Where it did not race furiously around the jagged rocks, the water shot over them, tumbling into a spectacular array of small waterfalls and boiling up in violent waves that only gradually calmed as the river entered the narrow Mather Gorge and resumed its headlong rush to Chesapeake Bay.

Beside her, Trev was leaning into the rail and peering down. "Look! There!" He pointed to a solo kayaker at the base of the Falls paddling for all he was worth into the swells of the oncoming current.

Bonnie bent toward his ear and nearly shouted, "We've got to try that someday."

He swung round eagerly, only to meet with dancing eyes and a barely stifled grin. He smiled back, rueful. "I guess I've said that once or twice before."

She laughed out loud. "Try every time we come here!"

'Well, we should! It looks like a blast."

Across the river, on their much higher overlook, Marylanders flailed their arms and jeered cordially at the Virginians who, in their estimation, had taken the path of least resistance instead of approaching the Falls in a physically-demanding fashion. Bonnie waved cheerfully back in acknowledgment, and dropping her arm, turned to Trev. "Ready to head out?"

He motioned her to precede him. "Lead on, Macduff."

The walkway to the trailhead was as broad and well-traveled as many a country lane. Edged on both sides by split-rail fences, it easily accommodated pedestrians walking two or three abreast, but even so, the foot-traffic was heavy enough that Bonnie and Trev were forced to tramp along at a more leisurely pace than they would have liked. Bonnie thought to while away the tedium by recounting, hopefully for laughs, a greatly streamlined version of what she introduced as "the saga of Sébastien and Isabelle." Trev followed the tale with every appearance of interest and amusement, but took issue, at the end, with Bear's figuring in the role of credible romantic rival. "No way could she sell that cold fish as her lover. Not even an Academy-award-winning actress could pull _that_ off. Sebastien, on the other hand, had it easy. Isabelle would've had no trouble believing he'd fallen hard for you."

Bonnie did not care to admit to finding Isabelle and Bear as a couple all too persuasive. "You have to appreciate Sébastien's mind set," she said, instead. "He firmly believes Isabelle could have any man she wants just by crooking her finger. He was positively green with jealousy."

"I'll have to take your word for it." The couple ambling along in front of them suddenly stopped, mid-path, to pose for a selfie, obliging Bonnie and Trev to swerve around them. "So…" Trev said, when they were well clear of the self-absorbed duo, "you could say it worked out for Isabelle, pretending she was interested in someone else."

"I suppose. It definitely got under Sébastien's skin. He finally faced the truth that he couldn't bear losing her."

A short distance away, they spotted the sign post for the River Trail, and gladly left the open path for the packed-dirt track into the woods. It was pleasantly cool under the trees, and, though there were rocky areas and exposed tree roots to contend with, the going was easy enough that they could finally set and maintain a good, steady pace. The trail being too popular and, in places, too narrow to permit much walking side by side, they fell into hiking one behind the other, Bonnie in the lead. From time to time, the trail wended out of the forest and along the top of the cliffs forming the gorge, providing breathtaking views of the sheer rock faces and the foam-laced river coursing between.

Personal landmarks jumped out at them all along the way. Their conversation was peppered with questions beginning, "Wasn't it right here we…?" and "Do you remember when you…?" _There_ was the dead tree among whose roots a copperhead had once lain coiled, and _there_ , the creek bed where, one Spring, Bonnie had slipped off a stepping stone and sunk ankle deep in the mud. _There_ was the sharp descent that had proved so terrifying the day a sudden rain had made the rocks dangerously slick, and _there_ , the jutting ledge where they always paused to take in the scenery and snap a picture or two. "Isn't that the boulder you stopped some kid from defacing over there?" Bonnie said, gesturing toward an imposing slab of granite. "You scared the bejeezus out of him, as I recall."

"Served him right. He had no business scraping his initials into that rock. This is a National Park, for God's sake, not some bathroom stall."

A number of small tracks branched off at intervals into the undergrowth, and, just short of the River Trail's end, they turned onto one they knew would lead to a tiny cove they might have all to themselves. Their luck was in; the crescent of crushed shell and sand was deserted, a welcome sight after the congestion higher up. They dropped down onto adjacent flat rocks by the water's edge, Bonnie, at least, agreeably tired by the unaccustomed exercise and glad of a break. She dug her water bottle and three granola bars out of her pack: two of the chili-chocolate variety Trev favored and a date-nut bar for herself. Trev took his from her with thanks, and motioned across the river where a group of climbers in brightly-colored singlets, shorts and helmets struggled to scale the cliff with the aid of ropes while their friends, some belaying them at the top, others still waiting their turn below, called out encouragement and advice.

The drama held Bonnie's interest for a while, but did not engross her as it did Trev. She found herself watching him, instead, as he followed the climbers' slow rise from one precarious handhold to another. It was a dear, handsome profile she saw, familiar in every line. Sitting quietly beside him, out in the sun-warmed air with the river rippling gently past, she was reminded how very easy it was to be with him, how right. She felt again their strong connection, a bond forged by sharing countless happy days like this one over the years. They'd begun as a team on the tennis court, and that partnership had grown over time to encompass almost every aspect of their lives. There was no one in the world she knew better, or trusted more. He was solid as the rock beneath them, steady as the river's flow, upstanding as the tallest tree. And that would never change, she was sure. He had promised her a life of simple joys, and she could readily picture that including their continuing to return to this wilderness down the years, with the added company, perhaps, of a large dog straining at the leash and, over time, a baby in a hiking carrier and later still, a couple of intrepid children toting miniature backpacks of their own. Those excursions, like today's, would likely end in their stopping for a proper meal at the Old Dominion Tavern before setting off home for a late afternoon or evening spent indulging in exertions of a more intimate nature. Such a future had a lot to recommend it, Bonnie reflected, a bit surprised by the strength of the vision's appeal.

"A penny for them." Trev was regarding her quizzically, a smile playing on his lips. "From the look on your face, I'd say they were some pretty deep thoughts."

"Oh!" She laughed, flustered at being caught in a reverie. "You know, the usual 'sitting by the river' stuff: time, change, the meaning of life, lunch…"

"Lunch?" he echoed, with a grin.

"Naturally." She took a last sip of her water and stored the bottle away with their empty food wrappers. "All this exercise has given me an appetite."

"I hear you. I could go for some Maryland crab cakes, myself."

"At the Old Dominion?"

"Where else?"

They collected their packs, and, leaving the river behind, moved up the beach and back into the woods. At the trail junction, they turned towards what remained of Matildaville, a small town that had ably serviced the Patowmack Canal in George Washington's day. All that now stood witness to the once-thriving community were scattered field stone foundations, crumbling walls and the occasional free-standing chimney. The ruins lent their return leg a rather melancholy feel, and they responded by slowing to a stroll, chatting in a fairly random way as they walked along. They had nearly completed their loop when it occurred to Bonnie to ask about Trev's engagement the previous night. "You were kind of vague about the details when we spoke on the phone."

He stared down at his boots a moment before shooting her a glance. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Oh, now I'm more intrigued than ever! What did you do?"

He grimaced self-consciously. "I… ah… went to the opera."

"The opera? _You_?" Bonnie had to stop to take this bombshell in. "You _hate_ opera. Did you lose a bet or something?"

"Close. See, it was like this: at the party the other night, we got to talking about music — likes and dislikes, that sort of thing — and Vanna brought up opera. I stated, maybe a bit too bluntly, that I personally can't stand the stuff, and she comes back with 'What operas have you heard? What composers?'"

"She had you there. Did you come up with any names at all? Mozart? Verdi?"

He shook his head. "I didn't even try. I knew I was busted. Anyway, she says, 'How do you know you don't like it if you haven't even given it a chance?' Turns out, she and Steve Yates had plans to go to the Washington National Opera Saturday night. You remember Steve? The clarinet player at Dad's party? It just so happens he'd had to cancel on short notice. So, she dares me to take his ticket and give opera a fair shake. I didn't see how I could refuse. Especially since she wasn't going to use the tickets if she couldn't find someone to go with her."

"And you owed her a favor, anyway," Bonnie said, nodding in understanding. "So, don't leave me in suspense! How'd it go? Was it awful? What did you see?"

"Wagner's _Tristan and Isolde_ …"

"Oh, that's an all-time great love story! Did you manage to follow the plot?"

"I read a synopsis before I went, to be on the safe side, and there was an English translation, too, scrolling on a screen above the curtain. I found I didn't really need to understand all the words, though. The music's a kind of language of its own, all pure emotion. Even though I didn't know exactly what they were saying, I could tell from the singers' voices and gestures what they were feeling, and it was pretty powerful stuff. I don't really know how to describe the experience, but one thing's for sure, it wasn't boring. Vanna called it 'transcendent,' but I guess I'd go with _moving_. I was moved."

"Wow." Bonnie was surprised at Trev's reaction, and not a little impressed. "So, do you see yourself becoming a regular at the Kennedy Center now?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but I'm definitely interested in seeing more. For my next concert, though, I'm going to stick to the tried and true. The Death Knellies will be in town in a couple of weeks, and I managed to score two tickets."

Bonnie's hands flew to her ears just at the mention of the cacophonous thrash-metal group. "You can't be serious! I thought they disbanded ten years ago."

"They're doing a reunion tour."

"Well, you're going to have to find someone else to go with you! That so-called music gives me a splitting headache." He did not answer immediately, and when she looked over at him, he could not quite hold her gaze. "Oh!"

"Of course I'd've asked you first if I thought there was any chance you'd go…"

She waved off his explanation. "No, I get it. I believe my exact words after my one and only Death Knellies' show were 'I'd rather pierce my ear drums with a dull barbecue skewer than ever listen to them live again.' Who's the other ticket for, then?"

Again, he hesitated just a beat. "Vanna. She's such a vocal proponent of being open-minded and not judging things in advance, I dared her to back up her words with actions. She doesn't think much of metal…"

"Because she's not a pre-teen boy or a man stuck in adolescence."

He slanted her a repressive frown. "… but she's agreed to give it a second try. I could get you a ticket, too, if you want. There were plenty last time I checked."

"No, no!" she said, quickly. "Thanks, but no. Vanna may be willing to risk severe hearing loss, but I'm not. You kids have fun without me."

It was well past two when they returned to Tessie who, happily, had suffered no ill-effects from being abandoned several hours in the parking lot. They drove the short distance to the Old Dominion Tavern, where the hostess, remembering them from previous visits, greeted them cordially and showed them to window seats looking out onto the well-tended rear garden. Trev proclaimed his heaping serving of crab cakes the best he'd ever eaten, and Bonnie had no complaints about her fish and chips, which, while plain pub fare, was executed to perfection. As she sipped her coffee and watched Trev demolish a generous wedge of apple pie, Bonnie felt a sense of well-being wash over her. It had been a good day, and she had the option of making it last longer. She mulled over what she would answer when, inevitably, Trev suggested she accompany him back to his place. He pushed his plate away eventually, sighed in satisfaction, and smiled across the table at her with the honest warmth she knew so well. Yes, she thought. She would say yes.

She snuggled down in Tessie's passenger seat for the long drive into the capital, confident in the expectation that Trev would bring up the subject before they reached the highway, but he didn't, and as mile after mile sped by, she realized he wouldn't. He grumbled instead about the backlog of work awaiting his attention at home — precedents to be researched, documents to review, arguments to draft and refine; hours and hours of paging through dusty law tomes and examining fine print. Bonnie commiserated, and guarded against betraying any sign of the let-down she felt. When they pulled up before her front door, Trev asked her to apologize to her mother and grandfather for not coming in to say hello, and told her to look for him in the crowd peering into the Conservation Station later on in the week. They exchanged a quick kiss in parting, and then Tessie was gliding down the drive and out of sight.

She stepped into the foyer just as her mother was coming down from the upper floor. "You're back sooner than I expected," Christine said. "Everything all right?"

Bonnie forced a reassuring smile. "Couldn't be better," she said, and hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.


	47. Chapter 47: Fishbowl

47\. Fishbowl

If it was stressful treating an invaluable painting in the workroom, Bonnie discovered it was downright nerve-wracking to do so in full view of the public. For the several hours each day she spent in the Conservation Station, only a tempered glass wall separated her from the museum visitors gathered to watch her work. Happily, _la Coupe d'amour_ was positioned in such a way that she sat much of the time with her back three-quarters turned to the spectators, but even so, she was uncomfortably aware of an audience standing only a few feet away, observing her every move. When their gazes felt too weighty or the burble of their voices too loud, she lowered her magnifying head gear and popped in her earbuds, effectively blocking out the sight and sound of them.

The best stretch of the day proved to be the two hours either side of noon when she and Bear were tasked with interacting directly with visitors. While one of them continued at the easel demonstrating the work, the other took questions about the painting and what went into the process of conserving it. Some questions recurred on a regular basis ("It looks like a really hard job. Is it?" and "Where did you learn the skills you need?"), but there was enough of a range, and the interest in her answers was so genuine, Bonnie came to actively enjoy the public-access period. Bear was less enthusiastic, but handled his share of the duties with professional courtesy and even, when dealing with children, an indulgence that no longer surprised Bonnie as much as it once would have.

As promised, Trev dropped in toward the end of the first week, but he was not the first of her friends and family to do so, nor, over the month they occupied the conservation studio, was he the last. Early on, Rosalie Vincent stopped by for her long-awaited glimpse of _La Coupe d'amour_ , and to say her farewells. She was leaving in a matter of days for a series of appearances in New York, Boston and Montreal after which she would return home to France. " _Ce n'est qu'un au revoir_ ," she said, when Bonnie had stepped out into the gallery for a private word. "We will meet again in Paris before too long, I feel sure. Perhaps you will make one of the team who accompanies the Lebrun to the Louvre later in the year? If not, then in January, when you take up your Fellowship. Yes, yes! I am more resolved than ever that you shall have it!" She took Bonnie's hands in hers, and, leaning forward, kissed her cheeks in parting. "Good-bye, dear girl. Oh! I must not forget to thank you for sending me that photo of Danny's dinosaur drawing. I am so happy to have it." She cast a long look at her son's cold shoulder, and, with a last fleeting smile, went on her way.

Midweek, with schoolchildren on early-release, the Institute saw a large spike in attendance. Bonnie had been fielding questions from live-wire kids for nearly an hour when Vanna and two small companions joined the crowd standing three-deep at the barrier. At Bonnie's welcoming smile, Vanna grinned broadly and then directed her attention to moving her charges by degrees up to the front. When she had ushered them to the microphone, Vanna urged them to "fire away" and "not be shy" before retreating, herself, to the back of the throng and following the interchange from there.

"That was a real laundry list of questions," Bonnie said, when Vanna phoned her later that evening to thank her for the thorough and thoughtful answers she'd given the girls. "They were very well-prepared!"

"We encourage our girls to make the most of the opportunities that come their way. Did I mention you're Lashonda and Kylee's new role model? No joke! They want to be you when they grow up! They love art and science about equally, and just took it for granted that, when it came to a career, they were going to have to choose one or the other, but meeting you and learning about your work has opened up a world of new possibilities for them. They're so excited."

"That's great to hear. I was impressed with them, too. They're obviously smart, determined girls with a bright future ahead of them."

"Their potential's _unlimited_ , as we like to say. And, speaking of potential…" Vanna waggled her eyebrows playfully. "I couldn't help but notice that hunky guy in the chair behind you. What's the story there? Is he taken?"

This seismic shift in the conversation caught Bonnie so off-guard, she was left for a moment gasping for words. Then, "Dr. Baer? Er… no. He's not with anyone. That I know of. Divorced. Single father." She broke off, took a breath to collect herself, fixed a smile on her face. "Still on the look-out for Mr. Might-Be-Right, Vanna? I thought you already had a solid candidate in view."

Vanna wrinkled her nose in distaste. "He's stuck on one of his gal pals. You know the type: hanging in there on the slim chance the love of his life will wake up one fine morning and finally see him as more than a friend." She rolled her eyes. "Not worth my time. So, how about it?" she went on, skewing up-beat again. "Can I get an introduction?"

"Well… I don't know. I mean, sure, if the occasion presents itself, but, the thing is, I rarely ever see him outside of work, and when we're at the Jeff, he's all business. You know, a nose-to-the-grindstone kind of guy. He's not one for socializing on the job. Or at all, really." True, thankfully; every word.

"Prefers his own company, hunh? Because he's shy, or thinks he's too good for other people? _Shy_ , I can work with." Bonnie, at a loss again, opened her mouth as if to answer but Vanna abruptly shook her head and raised a stilling hand. "You know, never mind. Why borrow trouble, am I right? Plenty of other good-looking fish in the sea. Your cousin Eddie, for one. _Is_ he unattached? You never did say."

"He's not dating that woman you saw him with, that much I know. And I'm sure he'd love to meet you." After all, Vanna was a leggy, blue-eyed blond, Eddie's particular weakness. "It's not always easy to get in touch with him, is all. He's out of town a lot. I should be able to arrange something, though. Let me see what I can do."

"Sounds good. And, listen, while we're on the subject of guys, Trev's probably told you we've been spending a little time together, and I just want to assure you, personally, that there's nothing going on between us. Nada, zilch, zero. It's a strictly casual, buddy-buddy sort of thing. You must know he's completely devoted to you, and anyway, even if he showed some interest — which I'm not saying he has! — I would keep my hands off. It's not my style to poach another girl's man, not under any circumstances. So, I promise, you don't have a thing to worry about!"

Bonnie was touched by Vanna's concern, although the underlying presumption of jealousy irked her. "I appreciate your being upfront with me, Van, but you don't have to be careful of my feelings. If I'd said 'yes' when Trev asked me to marry him, the situation would be different, but, as it stands, whatever claim I may have had on him, I gave up when I turned him down. He's free to see whoever he wants, whenever he wants, without regard to what I think or how I feel. And the same goes for you. You don't owe me any special consideration."

Vanna tilted her head to the side, and regarded her thoughtfully. "I see what you're saying, and your attitude's commendable, but even so, it's important to me that you're fine with this, because if you aren't, I won't see him again, end of story. We haven't know each other very long, Bonnie, but I value your friendship and wouldn't want to lose it over some man."

Bonnie could not contain a grin. "Not even when that man is smokin' hot, and one of D. C.'s top ten most eligible bachelors?"

Vanna grinned back. "Not even then."

After the novelty of the first week, the number of visitors to the Station dwindled, but hardly a day passed without some member of the Booth clan turning up on the other side of the glass wall. Her grandfather and mother surprised her by making the trip in to see her in her "natural habitat," as Christine drolly characterized the cage-like studio. Reese came in with his classmates on their school's yearly field trip, with Annalise riding herd as a parent volunteer. Adele snatched a few minutes from her rotation at the hospital to give Bonnie's performance two thumbs up, and Max and Junior looked in to tease and distract her in time-honored brotherly fashion. One happy day, she thought she spotted Eddie at the back of a tour group, but it proved to be a stranger. She kept an ever-watchful eye out for her elusive cousin, but he never did show, almost as if he knew in that uncanny way of his that she particularly wanted to talk to him about a little favor he might do for her, a favor that involved his agreeing to a blind date.

It was the second Friday afternoon in the Station, just as Bonnie was setting the work area to rights in preparation for closing for lunch that she heard Bear say into the microphone, "We're nearly done here. Give me a few minutes, and then we can talk." Turning in her chair, Bonnie saw a tall blond she did not immediately recognize as Val Dunbar standing in the outer gallery. Hair caught back in a high ponytail, and face largely clear of makeup, Val looked to have made less than her usual effort with her appearance, and was all the more attractive for it. She had dressed down, as well, perhaps _too_ casually, in a velour track suit and designer athletic shoes. Taking her in, Bonnie couldn't help but wonder if Eddie's love of disguise hadn't rubbed off on Val during their short association. She raised a hand in greeting, and was about to return to her straightening, when Val waved eagerly back and motioned her over.

Bear answered her questioning look with a shrug. "Beats me," he said, stepping away from the barrier. "She has something to ask you, she said."

Bonnie took Bear's place at the mike. "Hi, Val! Good to see you. What's up?"

"Bonnie." Val bobbed her head 'hello.' "Been a while…" She attempted a smile, but it was uncertain at best. "Look, I won't beat around the bush. I know it's short notice, but I was really hoping you'd let me buy you lunch."

"Oh!" The invitation was so out of the blue, Bonnie was stuck for a reply. "Today?"

"You don't already have plans, do you?"

"Well, I…"

Val patted the body of her overlarge shoulder bag. "I brought along some drawings Danny made for you. He said to tell you they're ideas for some book you two are working on? About a boy and a dinosaur?" At Bonnie's nod, she hurried on, "Please say you'll come. Just for a quick bite. I've got some news I think you'll find interesting, and… ah… another matter I'd like to discuss with you, too."

Bonnie had the unwelcome suspicion the other 'matter' went by the name of Eddie Booth, but, as Val had cleverly foreseen, the carrot she dangled was too tempting to resist. "I usually grab a salad at the museum café. That suit you?"

It did.


	48. Chapter 48: Windfall

48\. Windfall

"I'll just go on ahead, and get us a table," Val said, beaming with pleasure. "Meet you down there!"

Bonnie watched her out of sight before turning back into the studio. Bear had finished clearing away their solvents and tools, and was repositioning the easel so _La Coupe d'amour_ would face fully out into the gallery during their absence. She moved forward to lend him a hand. "What have I let myself in for?" she wondered aloud.

"Indigestion's an easy bet," Bear said, not quite under his breath.

"You have any idea what this is about?"

"She wants something, that's obvious." He stepped back, examined the easel's placement, made a minor adjustment. "Whatever it is, my advice to you is: say 'no.' She'll be looking to take advantage somehow." He leveled a stern gaze her way. "Don't let her con you."

 _Like last time_. The words, though unsaid, were plain enough to read in his eyes, and remained in the forefront of her mind as Bonnie stepped into the bustling cafeteria. Even more than an hour after noon, the large dining area was still chaotic with movement and noise, and it was a moment before she spotted Val waving at her from the corner table she'd managed to snag for them. Bonnie worked her way over, held up a time or two by tray-burdened patrons wandering in search of unoccupied seats. "Wow!" she said, when she finally reached Val. "It's really packed today. It's a wonder you found a table!"

"I know! It's crazy! Look, since lunch is on me, you hold down the fort, and I'll go through the line. You wanted a salad, right? Any particular kind? And what about a drink?"

"A chef salad, please, if they have it. If not, whatever looks good. And bottled water."

"That's easy." Val rummaged in her bag, eventually removing first her wallet, and then a cardboard mailing tube which she held out to Bonnie. "Danny's drawings. You might like to look them over while you're waiting. Back in a flash!"

Bonnie lost no time settling herself in a chair and teasing several sheets of off-white construction paper from the tube. There were four drawings in all, each featuring a boy and a t-rex engaged in various fun activities. Danny hadn't downplayed any of the dinosaur's fearsome characteristics and yet it was precisely the dinosaur's ferocious aspect which lent the drawings their humor and charm. In one, the creature held its saw-toothed jaws wide open but in laughter, not aggression, and, in another, it was trying to move a game piece with its ludicrously short forearm, while in a third it had accidentally punctured a soccer ball with a kick from its talon-tipped leg. The fourth, showing the t-rex using its monstrous head to push the boy on a swing, was also delightful, until Bonnie noticed two children pictured cowering behind a tree.

"So, what do you think?"

At Val's sudden reappearance, the paper edges slipped from Bonnie's fingers, and rolled in on themselves. She swept the sheets up, making room on the table for Val's tray. "They're wonderful," she said, fitting the drawings carefully back in their tube. "Especially for a five-year-old. Danny's very gifted."

"He is, isn't he?" Val shared out the food, utensils and napkins, and slid into her seat. "I can't tell you how excited he is about this project of yours! He spends hours on every picture."

"It shows. The detail is really astounding." She saw again in her mind's eye the frightened children of the playground scene. "What's the story with the boy and the t-rex, do you know? We talked about a toy dinosaur coming to life, but that doesn't seem to be the direction he's taking."

Val stopped unwrapping her sandwich to look at Bonnie blankly. "There's supposed to be a story? I thought the idea was just to show the kind of fun things a boy could do if he had a pet dinosaur." She shook her head helplessly. "He hasn't said anything about a story to me. I'll ask him for you, or, better yet, you could come over to our place sometime and talk to him yourself. I know he'd love that."

The invitation seemed innocent enough on the face of it, and had it been issued by another woman Bonnie would likely have accepted. As it was, she had the niggling suspicion she was being set up for an afternoon or evening of free babysitting. "How about we agree on a time when Danny and I can chat on the phone? That's easier to arrange."

"Sure, that'll work. I'd suggest tonight but Dolph has Danny for the weekend."

"Monday night, then? Around seven? What's the number?"

That settled, they turned their attention to their lunches or, at least Bonnie did. Val popped the odd bit of crust in her mouth, but otherwise ignored her sandwich, much as her son might have done. "I really appreciate it, you know, the interest you've taken in Danny," she said, with a tentative smile. "Not many people would go to so much trouble for a boy they hardly know."

"You give me too much credit, Val. All I've done is praise his work as it deserves and offer some encouragement. That hardly qualifies as 'trouble.'"

"Not that part, no," she conceded. "It's that _other_ thing." She leaned in and fixed Bonnie with a look meant to be meaningful. " _You know_."

Bonnie, mystified, searched Val's face for clues, but found none. "Excuse me?"

Val retreated slightly. "Look, your name never came up, but it had to be you who recommended Danny. She knew things about him only you could have told her."

Bonnie carefully lowered the forkful of greens she'd speared. "Seriously, Val, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"If that's how you want to play it, fine by me. I get that some people don't want recognition for the good deeds they do. Let's just say, then, I'm grateful to whoever the woman is who brought Danny to the attention of the Young Artist Foundation."

Bonnie searched her memory, but failed to place the organization. "Can't say I've heard of it."

"They provide scholarship aid and other kinds of support for youngsters who show exceptional artistic promise. In Danny's case, they've given me vouchers for up to four sessions of summer camp at the Jeff, all expenses paid. They're even throwing in a little extra cash for meals and art supplies."

"Wow! That's… fantastic!" Happy as she was prepared to be for Danny's sake, Bonnie could not shake the feeling that something didn't quite add up. "One thing, though: are you saying the foundation reached out to you directly? That's not usually how these things work."

"I know! I thought, at first, it had to be a scam of some kind. I mean, who just calls up out of nowhere and offers your child a scholarship? I was about to cut the woman off, but then she mentioned Danny's love of dinosaurs, and I realized it wasn't some telemarketer making a random call. So, when she asked me if I'd be willing to discuss the matter over lunch, I thought why the heck not? It didn't hurt, either, that she wanted to meet at Le Flambeau. I figured chances were good anyone who could afford such a pricey restaurant wasn't out to con me, and, even if she was, at least I'd get a fabulous meal out of it. Have you ever eaten there? The place is incredible."

"Yes. Yes, it is." Like Val, Bonnie'd been invited to dine there not long before, and, she was beginning to suspect, by the very same person. "So, you met with the foundation's representative. Miss…? Ms…?"

"Mrs., I think. Yeah, Mrs. Albert Vincent. A very nice lady, kind of old but stylish. She's an artist, too, a painter she said. She's made it big enough now, she wants to help out talented young artists, to pay back, in a way, the artists who encouraged and supported her when she was starting out. She had me bring along examples of Danny's artwork, and she asked a lot of personal questions, so, turns out, it wasn't a done deal after all, but more of an interview. Thank goodness, I didn't blow it!"

"I'm sure you didn't have a thing to worry about, Val." At most, Rosa would have wanted to ascertain how far she could trust her grandson's mother; the financial aid would always have been forthcoming in some manner. Though Bonnie thought she knew the answer, she asked to be sure, "There're no strings? No conditions?"

"None. Or nothing unreasonable, anyway. I'm supposed to send the Foundation at least one picture of Danny and his camp project at the end of each session, and Mrs. Vincent said she might be in touch from time to time to check on Danny's progress. And, the best thing of all, if he continues to show promise, and grows as an artist, she thinks the Foundation will probably renew their support!"

"Then it's practically guaranteed." Bonnie tried to infuse the proper enthusiasm into the words, but it was an effort. She was in an awkward spot: privy to a maneuver Rosa had never meant her to discover, and which she would have been happier knowing nothing about. It threatened to land her again in the middle of a family squabble, where she had no desire to be. "How did Dr. Baer take the news?"

"Oh, _him_!" Val scowled down at her plate, and picked at her chips. "I haven't told him yet, and I'm not sure I'm going to. He'll only make a big stink, and insist I return the money and vouchers."

Bonnie expected no less, but then, she had reasons Val could not know. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he's proud as the devil, that's why! He'll call it 'charity,' and act like it threatens his manhood, or something! Plus, you may have noticed, he's insanely possessive when it comes to Danny. You'd think he'd be grateful that someone wanted to do something nice for his son, but no! He has to be the big man, the sole provider. Heaven forbid Danny should have anyone else to rely on! Well, this time, _I_ 'm the one who made something good happen for Danny, and I'm not going to let him ruin it!" At nearby tables, heads swiveled in their direction, some in curiosity, others in disapproval. Val returned stare for stare, but did subside somewhat. She took a bite of her sandwich, and regarded Bonnie speculatively as she chewed. "I suppose you'll tell him, if I don't."

Bonnie shook her head. "Not my concern. But he's bound to start asking questions once Danny goes off to camp. Unless, of course, you have your own earnings or savings to draw from?"

"No, nothing like that." She sighed. "I may as well tell him tonight. He'll probably raise the roof, but, you know, so what? He can't force me to go back on the agreement. I have as much right to act on Danny's behalf as he does, and I refuse to let Danny miss out on a golden opportunity because of his stupid issues!"

Which, Bonnie reflected, was exactly what Rosa had been counting on. She had to tip her hat to her wily friend; she had won this round. What her son would not accept from her, she had found a way to give her grandson. And, as before with Bear's college expenses, she'd done it with fair anonymity and little expectation of return. Bonnie was confident Rosa would not use this opening to insinuate herself into Danny's life; she would remain in the shadows, a distant benefactor, content with the occasional up-date and photograph. It was not Bonnie's place to take sides, but she found she could not be sorry Rosa had gained her objective. "I have two young cousins, Hank and Reese, and every summer they do at least a week of Jeff camp. They really love it! If they're running the 'Monsters, Snakes and More' camp again this year, you should sign Danny up for it. According to Reese, it was the best time _ever_."

Val had been studying the offerings, and launched into a description of the sessions she was actively considering. As little was required of Bonnie other than to listen and supply the occasional opinion, the rest of the meal passed off pleasantly enough. It was, nonetheless, with a feeling of relief that Bonnie finished her salad, and set about collecting and consolidating her trash.

Val fell silent, and followed Bonnie's movements with evident disquiet. "You don't have to head back just yet, do you? How about a cup of coffee, or tea?"

"Not for me, Val, thanks." She made a show of consulting her watch. "I don't have to leave right this second, but soon. Five, ten minutes, tops."

"Right. Okay." She took a breath, and nodded several times, as if working up her resolve. "You were… ah… talking about a couple of your cousins a while back, and that reminded me I wanted to ask you about that other cousin of yours. You know the one I met at your art show that time? Eddie? What's he up to these days? I haven't seen or heard from him in a while."


	49. Chapter 49: Eddie

49\. Eddie

"Tell me about it!" Bonnie could have kicked herself for not making good on the chance to escape before the subject of Eddie could arise. All it would have taken was a tiny white lie… "I've been expecting him to visit the Conservation Station anytime these last two weeks, but he's been a no-show."

"The reason I ask… he may have mentioned we were seeing each other pretty steady for a while there…"

"Now that you mention it, he _did_ say something about the two of you last time I talked to him. Something about having a ton of fun and a lot of laughs."

Val perked up noticeably. "He said that? I was wondering, you know, because he hasn't called or come by lately. I texted him a few times, too — just a 'Hey, there! How's it going?" — but no answer."

"That's Eddie for you!" Bonnie shook her head with not-entirely-feigned annoyance. "He's always dropping off the face of the earth without the least warning. It's maddening! He's going to get an earful from me next time he surfaces, I guarantee you!"

Val paused a moment to take this in. "So, it's a regular thing with him? He disappears, and doesn't contact anyone?"

Bonnie nodded. "Standard Eddie Booth operating procedure. Usually, he's incommunicado for a few weeks, but there've been times he was out of touch for more than a month."

"Wow! That's really… weird. How's he explain being gone so long?"

"He doesn't. He just pops back up whenever, and acts like nothing's happened. And it's no use asking questions. If he answers at all, it's always in the vaguest possible terms, which is Eddie's subtle way of saying 'back off.' He even told me once I was better off not knowing, for what that's worth."

Val's eyes grew round with conjecture. "Do you suppose he's a secret undercover agent, like for the CIA or one of those private security outfits? That could be why he's so mysterious."

"It wouldn't surprise me." Bonnie preferred to think Eddie's clandestine activities were more in the nature of interventions on behalf of friends, or friends of friends, who found themselves in dire straits, but the principle was the same. "Our grandfather worked for the FBI, so some of that passion for bringing down bad guys could've rubbed off on him. Or, not." She shrugged elaborately. "There's just no knowing. But I think it's safe to say, whatever's behind this most recent vanishing act has nothing to do with you. Or me, for that matter."

Val brightened with nascent hope. "Then, it wasn't anything I did, or didn't do?"

"Exactly! It's not _you_. It's _him_."

"So, he could still call when he gets back from wherever."

"Er… Sure." Bonnie's attempt to spare Val's feelings had, apparently, been only too successful. "You _do_ know, Val, that Eddie's not a good bet for a long-term relationship, right? From what he tells me, he's usually pretty upfront about that."

"Yeah, we had the 'keeping things casual' talk. But people change."

"I wouldn't bank on that with Eddie. Don't get me wrong: he's a great guy, with lots of admirable qualities, but staying-power isn't one of them. He doesn't stick, not with anyone or anything. Not for long, anyway."

Val regarded her skeptically. "He's never had a serious girlfriend?"

"Well, Eddie being Eddie, I can't be one hundred percent certain, but if he has, he's kept her completely under wraps. He's brought a few women home to meet the family over the years, but it's never been the same one twice. No, hold on." If she was going to badmouth her cousin, she could at least be fair. "There _was_ one girl…"

"Let me guess," Val broke in. "Deena, right?"

Thrown off-stride, Bonnie could only stare a moment in confusion. "I… er, no. I was going to say Terry, Eddie's high-school flame. Who's Deena?"

"You don't know? Eddie calls her 'Aldina' when she's being especially irritating." Val waited for signs of dawning recognition, but Bonnie could not oblige. "Aldina Clemens?"

The full name did ring a bell, but so faintly as to be useless. Bonnie shook her head.

"She owns and operates a bar called Paradise Lost. The place comes as advertised, let me tell you. I wouldn't normally set foot in such a dive, but it's Eddie's favorite hang-out for some reason."

It came to Bonnie then: an Aldo Clemens, former priest and one-time proprietor of Paradise Lost, had been her grandfather's close friend and spiritual advisor, a man so valued and trusted he had officiated at her grandparents' wedding. He figured in several photos taken at the ceremony, a trim, dark-haired gentleman with soulful eyes and, even on so joyous an occasion, a rather melancholy air. He had met with a sad end, Bonnie seemed to recall: a downward spiral into addiction, insolvency and ultimately a brutal death. Her grandparents had always spoken of him in sober tones and with palpable grief. "I know the place you mean. Are you sure this Aldina owns the bar, though? It belonged once to an _Aldo_ Clemens…"

Val nodded. "Her grandfather."

That gave Bonnie pause. Among the tragedies of Aldo's life, as she understood it, were his never having found his soulmate or fathered children. "She inherited the bar? I thought Aldo sold it, or was bought out by a partner, before he died."

"That's the official version, but apparently there's a whole lot more to the story. The way I heard it, Deena was brought up to believe her grandfather was cheated out of the bar by one of his employees, Tom something or other. Supposedly, this Tom guy introduced Aldo to heroine, and kept him supplied pretty cheaply with some high-grade stuff until he was good and hooked, and then, he claimed he couldn't get him any more. Aldo had to start buying from regular dealers, and the price was so steep, he went through his money in no time. Eventually, he was so desperate for cash, he sold the bar to Tom for a fraction of what it was worth. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, Tom made up stories about Aldo stealing from the tip jar and getting violent with customers so he'd have an excuse to throw him out on the street. To hear him tell it, he was the victim, when all along he was the one who took advantage of Aldo and brought him down. Some scumbag, huh?"

"If it's true. Did Deena take him or his heirs to court? Is that how she got the bar?"

"I don't know all the ins and outs, but I got the impression it wasn't exactly handled through legal channels. Eddie helped her out somehow, that much I know. Not that you'd ever guess from the way she treats him. She's always rude to him and uppity, like she can barely stand him. Every so often he tries to give her advice, or he makes some harmless comment about the bar, and it's 'you're not the boss of me,' and 'if I wanted your two cents, I'd ask for it.' I figure, what with all the hostility, they were probably an item at some point and then, went through a really nasty break-up. The tension's so thick between them sometimes, the air practically crackles."

Bonnie resolved on the spot to swing by Paradise Lost at the first opportunity. A woman impervious to Eddie's legendary charms was a specimen rare enough to deserve scoping out. "Does she work at the bar as well as own it?"

"Oh, yeah. Mostly she's behind the counter, but she's not above waiting tables. Eddie gets after her to hire more servers, but she ignores him. I guess, after what happened to her grandfather, it makes sense."

Bonnie could sympathize with Deena's trust issues, but what she couldn't fathom was Eddie's behavior. Why would he continue to frequent a seedy watering hole where he was subjected to abuse and generally made to feel unwelcome? It was not his temperament to submit meekly to aggravation and disrespect. Unless… She could envisage a scenario in which their grandfather, having learned of Deena's existence and her contentions regarding Aldo's death, had taken it upon himself to provide support and assistance to his old comrade's granddaughter. He would have enlisted Eddie to deal with the practical details, and, once the bar had been restored, by means fair or foul, to Deena, Eddie would likely have been detailed to keep a benevolent eye on her in case she could use additional help or guidance. If Deena was as fiercely self-reliant as Val made her out to be, she would naturally resent having a watchdog set on her, especially, Bonnie suspected, if she was young and inexperienced enough actually to need one. "How old is Deena, would you say?"

"Twenty-five," Val answered without hesitation. "She carded me once — just to be a royal pain, mind you — and happened to notice we were born the same month and year." She smiled dryly at the surprise Bonnie wasn't quick enough to hide. "You thought I was older."

Bonnie had pegged her as close to thirty, in fact. "It's just… well, Danny's five…"

"I was nineteen when I had him, eighteen when I got married."

"Really!" Bonnie wasn't comfortable with the sudden turn the conversation had taken, and floundered for something to say that would not be construed as encouragement. "That's… awfully young."

"Too young. I wasn't ready to be a wife, let alone a mother."

"Not many teenagers would be."

Bonnie held her breath, but for a wonder, Val picked up on her unwillingness to play the role of sympathetic listener, and did not pursue the subject. "You have to run, I know," she said, putting a polite spin on Bonnie's reluctance to indulge her. "Thanks for letting me chew your ear off. No, no! Leave it," she insisted, when Bonnie would have cleared away her trash. "I'll take care of it. You don't want to be late."

Bonnie slipped gratefully out of her seat, and stood an awkward moment by the table. "Thanks for lunch, Val." _It was good talking to you. Let's get together again soon. My treat next time_. The usual phrases came easily to mind, but she couldn't bring herself to say them with any sincerity. "I'll be sure to call Danny this coming Monday at seven, as we agreed," she said, instead.

Val's lips turned up in the semblance of a smile. "Okay, great. Have a good weekend."

"You, too."

Bonnie smiled in farewell, and was about to turn away, when Val stopped her with, "One last thing before you go? If you should see Eddie…"

"I'll tell him you were asking for him."


	50. Chapter 50: Madeleine

50\. Madeleine

"Running late. Meet at 6:30?"

Bonnie had been on the point of texting Trev to request a change of her own, but, with his being delayed, it seemed unlikely he would be amenable to crossing town to patronize Paradise Lost when the Founding Fathers was conveniently close by. Checking out Deena Clemens would have to wait, she concluded, if not for another day, at least until after dinner. She texted a thumbs-up in response, and considered her options for killing an hour or so.

She had tentatively decided to catch up with Gabby and the Friday Night Regulars, but then a last cursory check of her email turned up a new message bearing the tantalizing subject line "Initial genealogical report," and all thought of leaving flew from her mind. She dropped quickly back into her desk chair, and pulling up the message, saw its sender was, as she hoped, Richard de Clermont.

"Ma chère Bonnie," he began, "I was flattered to learn from your dear grandmother that you remembered so old and unremarkable a fellow as I, to the extent, even, of recalling my passion for burrowing like the veriest mole into the deepest recesses of the historical archive. As you must be aware, I would have undertaken the research you propose for no other reason than to oblige my dear friend Angèle, but the prospect of being of service to your amiable self as well quite doubles my pleasure in the enterprise. I understand that your need for answers is somewhat urgent, and so, have conducted a quick inquiry using the most readily-available sources, the results of which you will, I hope, find interesting.

I thought it advisable to communicate these initial findings to you in writing rather than over the phone in order to give you time to digest the information and formulate questions. If, having read the following, you require clarifications or have identified areas that need further investigation, you can let me know by return mail, or inform Angèle. She is keeping abreast of developments, as might be expected of a person of her wide-ranging curiosity and sharp intellect.

"Here, then, without further introduction, is what I have discovered to date about Madeleine Lavallière: according to the church register of Rousseleroi, a small town in (what was then) the Blanchard baronial domain, Madeleine, née Chiasson, married Yves Lavallière of that parish on April 22, 1776. Like the groom, the bride hailed from southwestern Picardy. Her place of birth is given as Magny-sur-Oise, a hamlet some forty kilometers to the east of Rousseleroi (note: neither town is very distant from my own home base in Clermont). Madeleine was nineteen years of age at the time of her wedding, had never previously been married, and had been employed as a servant. Her parents are listed as Gilles Chiasson (farmer) and Sabine Michaud (deceased).

"For his part, Lavallière was nearly thirty years the bride's senior (forty-eight), and a widower. He was, like his prospective father-in-law, a farmer, but with this difference: he held a long-term lease on his fields and buildings, while tax records show Chiasson owned ten acres of land, which he'd inherited from his father.

"You are not to deduce from this that Gilles Chiasson was well-to-do; very likely, it was just the opposite. In this era, Picardy's agricultural land was divided in roughly equal parts among the nobility, the church and the so-called 'peasant proprietors.' This last group of farmers had small holdings, generally of a size that did not come close to producing enough to supply all the family's needs. When you consider that a parcel of at least thirty acres was deemed necessary for self-sufficiency, you can appreciate how inadequate Chiasson's holding was. To have a hope of making ends meet, Chiasson and his sons would have hired out as day-laborers to the larger landowners while his wife and daughters would have engaged in such cottage industries as weaving and basketmaking to earn additional income. When possible, the children would have found work as servants, groundskeepers and stable hands with the more prosperous inhabitants of the region, thereby easing the family's economic burden. It would have been a precarious existence, at best.

"Fortunately (from my point of view), the Chiasson and Minaud families had long roots in Magny-sur-Oise. I was able to locate their birth records and those of their children with relative ease. Gilles and his wife were a remarkably fruitful couple: in all, Sabine birthed a dozen children, including two sets of twins (note: apparently, twins run in the Michaud family line, Sabine having, herself, a twin sister, Louise). Tragically, Sabine died in childbed at the age of thirty-eight, leaving nine living children, four under the age of ten. Madeleine, the fifth-born child and third-born daughter, would have been eleven when her mother passed. With two elder sisters in position to take charge of the household, there was no advantage to Madeleine's remaining at home, and that being the case, it is reasonable to assume she began her work as a servant about that time (note: servants not only received wages from their employers, but room and board as well, a double boon for their families who gained financial support without expending precious resources).

"As the data was readily at hand, I followed up on Madeleine's siblings, and discovered a curious circumstance: by 1778, the Chiasson family fortunes had undergone a significant change, decidedly for the better. I was alerted to this by the marriage register for daughter Aline Chiasson (younger than Madeleine by two years). On this document, the father's occupation is now listed as 'innkeeper,' a large step up both in economic and social terms. This improved standing is reflected, additionally, in the occupation of Aline's groom: a cabinetmaker, he belonged to the artisanal class, and would have been considered above a mere farmer's daughter in station. Delphine and Joséphine Chiasson also married "up," if you will: one, a miller, and the other, a merchant. Clearly, the family had managed a quasi-meteoric rise from the proletariat to the lower ranks of the bourgeoisie. The question is: how was this accomplished?

"In the last half of the eighteenth century, the price of land rose continuously, at one point increasing by nearly one-hundred percent. I took it for granted Chiasson had benefited from this trend to sell his fields at a huge profit, and had subsequently invested that capital in a small hostelry. The record, however, did not bear this out. Chiasson continued to pay taxes on his farm property as long as he lived, and it passed, upon his death, to his eldest son, Gustave. The inn, in turn, was bequeathed to Gustave's twin brother, Philippe. Chiasson _père_ had _not_ traded one property for another; he had acquired a _second_. How had a man living on the edge of ruin come by a sum substantial enough to purchase an inn, and in so short a time?

"I put the question to Étienne Blanchard when, by happy coincidence, I ran into him two days ago at a meeting of our local chapter of l'ANF (note: an organization offering moral and financial support to struggling noble families). He is an amateur historian, with, admittedly, a fund of knowledge many times deeper than it is wide, but as he specializes in his family's doings in our corner of Picardy, that is all to the good. Even knowing his expertise, I was impressed when he immediately recognized the name 'Madeleine Lavallière.' I had expected to have to supply him with quite a bit of background information, but it proved completely unnecessary.

"It was not, after all, so brilliant a display of historical memory as I at first supposed. As it happens, Blanchard was approached not long ago about purchasing those recently discovered paintings by his ancestor Eugène, so the old affair had already been called to his attention and was much on his mind (note: negotiations with the Lavallières have bogged down due to their obstinacy in rejecting his 'perfectly reasonable offers'). He was very excited about the paintings and spoke of them at length, calling them 'windows on the past' and as intimate a glimpse into his ancestor's life as any diary or cache of private letters might have been. Taken together, they tell a compelling story of domestic happiness, of a man's love for his mate and their children, a very different picture, indeed, from the strictly convenient arrangement Blanchard had always assumed obtained between them. The paintings strongly suggest that Madeleine was the wife of Eugène's heart. 'If a baron might have married a milkmaid in that era,' Blanchard told me, 'she would probably have been his legal wife as well.'

"It was because he was revising his ideas about the importance of Madeleine in Eugène's life that Blanchard was reminded of a novel penned by a female ancestor in the early 1800s. The tale of a young noblewoman's trials and tribulations, it is generally understood in the family to have been inspired by the real-life experience of Clotilde-Andrée Blanchard, the author's grandmother and Eugène's baroness. The grand outline of the story is this: the naive heroine, having taken up residence in her new home with every expectation of living happily-ever-after, discovers after a short honeymoon period that her noble husband is, and has long been, in thrall to a local siren of surpassing outward beauty and inner moral corruption. She fights to free her husband from the clutches of this evil rival, at first for his sake and later, for the sake of their three sons, whose patrimony the baron is squandering to meet his mistress' increasingly outrageous demands. What the baroness finds unendurable (and this is of particular relevance to our investigation), is that her husband not only lavishes time and money on his paramour and her offspring, but _supports a horde of her grasping relatives_ as well.

"And there we have it: a plausible explanation for the Chiasson family's mysterious good fortune. I do not mean to imply I believe Madeleine was a merciless harpy intent on bleeding her noble lover dry — that is the version of a humiliated wife, after all. I believe rather, as does Blanchard, that Eugène raised Madeleine's family out of poverty of his own volition, out of love for her. It must have been a great romance.

"I find I am now intrigued by their story on my own account, and have asked Blanchard if he might arrange for me to see the paintings. Time permitting, I may also take him up on his invitation to stop by his library and read through _Love Betrayed_ (a fitting title for so melodramatic a novel). Speaking of which, in case you had any doubt, the much-wronged baroness triumphs in the end: she succeeds in running her wicked rival off and saving her sons' inheritance, but, sadly, only after her husband's death.

"Such is the information I have been able to gather for you, Bonnie. I hope there is something in the above that will prove useful. I will continue my digging, and if I uncover anything of interest, I will contact you. Let me have your questions or suggestions as well. I will entertain them gladly. In the meantime, I remain your, ever cordially, Richard de Clermont."

"Bonnie?"

She started violently, and turning, saw Bear standing just over the workroom threshold. "I didn't hear you come in."

He came forward, slowly closing the distance between them. "What're you still doing here? I thought everyone'd left an hour ago."

"I was on my way out when I noticed this." She gestured toward the screen. "It's the background information I requested about Madeleine Lavallière."

"That wild goose chase?" Leaning back, he half-sat on her worktable, and folded his arms across his chest. "Learn anything?"

"Quite a bit, but I'm not sure what it means, if anything. It seems she was a simple country girl from a large family who worked for a while as a servant. There's no indication she was ever in Paris, which is disappointing, but she _was_ born and raised in Picardy only about twenty miles from the Blanchard estate, so maybe she was employed there, and _that_ 's where she caught Lebrun's eye. Blanchard could have invited Lebrun to stay at the family chateau when they returned from Rome…"

"And then what? Lebrun enticed her to move to Paris and set her up as his mistress? He'd only just begun to make a name for himself, remember. I can't imagine he could afford it."

"But Blanchard could."

"Granted, but then she'd've been Blanchard's mistress, and Lebrun would've had no business feeling betrayed when she didn't return his feelings."

Bonnie sighed. "You're right. Their meeting her in Picardy doesn't work. It has to be Paris." She frowned thoughtfully at the screen, strongly tempted to read through the report again.

"Well," Bear said, pushing to his feet. "I've got to get going. Danny's expecting me."

Bonnie glanced at the clock: nearly six. If she left now, she'd arrive at the restaurant too early. She spare a last look at the text, and then logged out. "Time I was heading out, too."


	51. Chapter 51: Serendipity

51\. Serendipity

"I've got some news," Bear said. Their footfalls echoed loudly in the Friday-afternoon-in-summer stillness of the hallway. "I just had a meeting with Cummings about the timetable for the Lebrun. He wants it finished, ideally, by the middle of August. Early September at the latest."

Bonnie could not hide her dismay. "So soon?"

He nodded. "It's too bad the Duchesnays' general neglect of the painting preserved it so well. If only they'd dropped it a few times, stored it an unheated basement, or used it for dart practice, we'd have some serious condition issues to treat."

She saw he was ribbing her, and smiled ruefully. "Of course I'm glad we haven't turned up any major damage. I just hate the thought of giving it up in a matter of weeks."

"If it's any consolation, the plan is to make the painting's debut a gala event. These two weeks have confirmed it's a powerful draw — the number of visitors is up thirty percent over this time last year — and the Steering Committee's looking to capitalize on that to bump up membership in the Jeffersonian Society. It'll be a black-tie affair for Society members only, with cocktails and dinner in the Great Hall before the unveiling, and a party with music and dancing after. According to Cummings, they're going to pull out all the stops."

As her parents and grandparents were longtime 'Major Donor Club' members, Bonnie had attended her share of the Institute's more extravagant soirées. If past experience was any guide, _La Coupe d'amour_ 's reception would be the height of luxury and elegance. "A celebration is definitely in order."

"I agree. I only wish it didn't mean me having to spend hours in a monkey suit. I have to go," he explained, when she looked a question at him. "It's part of my job as Cummings' assistant to represent the department at these kinds of functions and talk up the work we do. He wants _you_ there, too, but he can't require it. You're under no obligation to work on a weekend night."

"I wouldn't dream of missing it! When is it?"

"First Saturday in September, whatever day that is. On the bright side, you can bring a date. If you want."

Bonnie did not hear the question so much as read it in Bear's suddenly intent gaze. "I… don't think so. The point of my going is to mingle and be available to answer questions, right? Then, chances are good whoever I invite along would spend most of the evening listening to me talk to other people, and I can't imagine that would be much fun." They descended a few stairs in silence before she ventured, "How about you? Will you bring someone?"

"Me? No."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he had, apparently, no more to say on the subject. "The day after the party," he went on instead, "the painting will go on public display, and hang in the gallery until mid-October, when it'll be taken down, crated up, and transported to the Louvre. Perrin's already busy setting up a range of events to mark its arrival: meetings with the press, a special exhibition devoted to the French Rococo, a symposium for Lebrun scholars and enthusiasts, and, of course, a gala celebration of their own."

Bonnie crossed her fingers, and hid them in the folds of her skirt. "Any word on who'll accompany the painting to Paris?"

"That's going to depend on how much of the cost the French are willing to bear, but it's safe to assume Cummings will go as the Jeff's liaison, and I'll probably supervise the move, and stay to give a technical overview of the painting's conservation at the symposium. As to _your_ making the trip…" He broke off to acknowledge the night security guard's wishes for a pleasant evening, and stood aside to let Bonnie precede him out the main door. "It's not out of the question, but don't get your hopes up, either. It's all still very much up in the air."

It was not the reassurance she'd hoped for, but at least the possibility remained open. "I understand."

They emerged into the balmy afternoon, the sun over-bright after a day spent indoors. At the bottom of the exterior stair, they stopped, Bonnie thought, to say their goodbyes, but Bear said, "You should consider submitting a paper of your own for the symposium. If it's accepted, you'd qualify for a Jeff travel grant, so funding wouldn't be a problem. Plus, presenting at an international conference would look good on your resumé. You could catalogue the physical differences and similarities between our _Coupe d'amour_ and the Louvre's, for example."

Or she could propose her theory explaining the radical shift in the painting's composition. She still needed strong supporting evidence, though… "That's a great idea. Thanks! I'll plan on it."

They continued to stand, she smiling up, Bear looking back with a more guarded, almost troubled expression. As the moment stretched, Bonnie had time to wonder if, just maybe, he was thinking of asking her join him and Danny for dinner, and what her answer would be if he did — she was practically sure she'd decline — but then he said, "Well," with a certain finality, and cocked a thumb over his shoulder. "I have to…"

"Me, too," she said hurriedly, back-pedaling a few steps. "Have a great weekend. Tell Danny I said hello."

He nodded, retreating in the opposite direction. "See you Monday." With that, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Bonnie looked after him a long moment, and then turned in the direction of the Founding Fathers. She thought about flagging a cab, but the weather was so glorious, she decided to treat herself to a leisurely stroll instead. As she walked, she went over de Clermont's findings in her mind, trying to hit on some angle, some promising lead to exploit, but the only good notion to come from this exercise was a decision to forward the email to her grandfather post haste for his expert consideration. She was glad enough to arrive at the restaurant with five minutes to spare, and, perching on the outside bench, drafted a short plea for help to accompany de Clermont's message. She had just pressed 'send' and was putting her device in her bag, when she heard a loud gasp, followed by a high-pitched, "Bonnie!"

Looking up, she discovered a hugely-grinning Vanna stopped on the sidewalk in front of her, cornflower blue eyes wide with delight. "I can't believe this!" she said, plunking herself down on the bench. "I've been meaning to call you all day, and now, poof! Here you are! Fancy that!"

Bonnie had to smile at so much ebullience. "It's good to see you, Van. You're looking very festive."

Vanna glanced down at the sequins and mirror work liberally bedecking the bodice and hem of her burnt-orange dress, and laughed. "I know it's a bit much, but it just screamed 'party' when I saw it at that vintage clothes shop you recommended, and I couldn't resist." A discreet cough caught her attention, and, glancing up, she gestured to a tall, thin man awkwardly obstructing the flow of pedestrians. "You remember Steve Yates?"

"Of course." Bonnie stood, and, smiling, held out her hand to him. "How are you?" In sharp contrast to Vanna, he was simply dressed in a dark t-shirt and jeans, and, for all answer, merely smiled pleasantly as they shook hands. "So," she said, looking from one to the other, "what brings you to this part of town?"

"We have this thing for campaign staffers later," Vanna said. "At Karied Away — you know, the karaoke bar just a few blocks from here? — and we thought we'd grab some dinner first. How about you?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to reply, but was distracted by the sight of Trev on the other side of the street, preparing to wend his way through traffic. He waved when he was half-way across, and, making the most of a small opening, jogged the rest of the way to her side. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. His hair was attractively mussed from the short dash, and his shirt was open at the collar, his tie loosely knotted around his neck. "You haven't been waiting long?"

"Hardly at all," Bonnie assured him. "And anyway…" She tipped her head meaningfully. "I've had company."

Trev turned to greet the other couple, his polite smile broadening into a grin when he saw who it was. "Oh! Hey, you two!" he said, reaching out to pump Steve's hand and planting a quick buss on Vanna's cheek. "What're you kids doing out this way?"

"Looking for a good place to eat," Vanna told him. "Nothing gourmet or exotic. Steve's a fussy eater. Any suggestions?"

"Well…" Trev slanted Bonnie an inquiring look. At her infinitesimal nod, he continued, "If you feel like plain American pub fare — salads, hamburgers, steak and fries — the Founding Fathers is pretty hard to beat. We're just heading in, ourselves. You should join us."

"Oh, no!" Vanna said, recoiling a step. "Thanks, but we couldn't possibly horn in your date."

"Don't be silly," Bonnie said. "The more, the merrier. Besides, didn't you want to talk to me about something or other?"

"Yes, but…" She gave her head a quick shake. "It can wait."

"Maybe so," Bonnie countered, "but now that you've piqued my curiosity, it would be mean not to tell me."

"And you wouldn't be intruding," Trev insisted. "Really."

Still Vanna hesitated, and it was only after a wordless conference with Steve that ended in his offhand "yeah, why not" shrug, that she gave in. "You're sure you don't mind?"

Bonnie threaded her arm through Vanna's and tugged her toward the restaurant entrance. "Positive."

Dinner passed over very pleasantly. Steve found his appetizer, entrée and dessert so entirely to his liking that, while he dutifully followed the conversation, he contributed little of substance to it. Bonnie tried once or twice to draw him into their discussion, but he seemed content to let Vanna do his share of the socializing as well as her own. And Vanna did bring a lot to the table, including a couple of favors she needed.

"The reason I was going to call you, Bonnie, is this year's Girls, Unlimited Career Day. It's an event we organize to expose the girls to the wide variety of jobs currently being done by women in the area. We try to showcase jobs, like yours, that aren't stereotypically female, jobs the girls might not know exist. Each speaker usually gives a brief talk about the work she does, and takes a few questions, and then, there's a tea at the end where the girls can follow up with their favorite speaker. It's a full afternoon's commitment, I'm afraid, but I was hoping you could make the time."

Bonnie, flattered to be asked, promised she would, and then, it was Trev's turn. "My mother's helping out with a local beauty pageant, and she's short one judge. You'd be perfect, Trev! No, hear me out! You're something of a celebrity, you're one of D. C.'s most eligible bachelors, and, best of all, you already own a tux!" She clasped her hands together in mock supplication. "Please say yes! I'll be eternally grateful."

"And well you should be," Trev said, chuckling. "All right. _Yes_."

Over dessert, talk turned to the nitty-gritty of the Senator's campaign: the recent poll numbers, the schedule for upcoming appearances, the contributions so far collected and strategies for raising more. Steve suddenly became more animated, leaving Bonnie something of the odd man out, but she was happy enough to sit back, savor her coffee and listen.

The only disagreeable moment came when the waiter brought the check, and Trev would not hear of splitting the bill. "I invited you to join us," he said, handing the server his debit card. "That makes you my guest." No amount of arguing on Vanna's part could make him change his mind. He even refused Steve's offer to leave the tip.

"Since you wouldn't let us pay a dime," Vanna said, when they were once again out on the sidewalk, "how about you let us treat you to a night of karaoke? We've rented a room for twenty, and only fifteen people confirmed. C'mon! It'll be a blast!"

"Oh!" Bonnie'd been thinking well ahead, waiting only for Steve and Vanna to take their leave to propose an excursion to Paradise Lost. She met Trev's questioning look, and winced inside to see his undisguised enthusiasm for the plan.

At her pained smile, Trev laughed indulgently. "Bonnie's not a huge fan of karaoke bars," he said, mistaking the reason for her reluctance.

Vanna swung toward her, face bright with interest. "Because your grandfather was shot in one?"

"What? No!" Bonnie objected. "How do you know about that, anyway?"

"I read about it in Parts of the Whole. Such a traumatic scene! I can see where you'd have a negative association."

"It's not that," Trev said, a teasing light in his eyes. "Truth is, Bonnie can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Hey! You're no great shakes, yourself!"

"That's not what you said when I played Danny in _Grease_."

"That was in high school! You were just less awful than the rest of the cast."

"I _love_ that musical," Vanna chimed in, warmly. "Those old songs have really great energy. Do you still remember _You're the One that I Want_? We could do it as a duet!"

Trev raised his brows at Bonnie, the appeal unmistakable in his eyes. "What do you say? We don't have to stay long."

"And no one's going to make you sing," Vanna assured her. "Steve usually doesn't."

"Unless I'm plastered out of my gourd," he put in, unexpectedly.

Bonnie looked at her three companions, all patiently hanging on her decision, two of them so hopefully. She stifled a sigh. Deena Clemens would have to wait. "Fine. Let's go."


	52. Chapter 52: Duet

52\. Duet

Bonnie woke the next morning to a vague feeling of discontent which she chalked up, at first, to the after-effects of some nightmare faded beyond her recall. Upon reflection, however, she realized she was suffering from a hangover. Not of the physical variety — she'd hadn't drunk enough alcohol at the karaoke bar for that. It was, rather, an emotional carryover, the irritation and grumpiness she'd felt the previous evening still niggling at her despite a good eight hours' sleep.

She rolled over fretfully, and yanked the covers over her head. She'd tagged along to the party with little expectation of enjoying herself, but then, against all odds, the night had started off really well. The campaign volunteers who'd turned up were mostly college-aged kids in exuberant spirits, ready, willing and eager to rock the night away. Apart from herself and Steve, everyone had jumped at the chance to take the mic, and the performances, while not always tuneful, had been delivered with such unfailing gusto and humor, it was impossible not to be charmed. Some of the singers had genuine talent, too, and watching them cavort on stage while belting out their go-to songs to appreciative cheers and whistles was nearly as good as being at a show.

Most of the songs were immediately-familiar recent pop hits, but there were also, surprising in a crowd so young, several classic anthems and golden oldies mixed in, including, to Bonnie's delight, a rollicking rendition of _Hot Blooded_ , complete with head banging and air guitar riffs. Vanna, especially, showed a predilection for vintage music, girl-group Motown in her case, which she performed with verve and just the right combination of sweetness and sass. Between her vivacity and pitch-perfect singing, she held the room easily in the palm of her hand, eliciting hoots of encouragement, and even inspiring spontaneous background vocals. Bonnie joined in the loud applause at the end of _Be My Baby_ and _He's So Fine_ , and was tapping her toe to the catchy beat of _One Fine Day_ when she intercepted a flirty look directed at their table, a look not intended for Steve.

Not sure what she'd seen, Bonnie watched more closely, and saw Vanna smile and wink liberally at others in the audience. She thought she discerned a subtle difference, though — an extra twinkle, a prolonged gaze — whenever Vanna turned Trev's way. Her suspicions were amply confirmed when, toward the end of the bridge, Vanna singled him out for what amounted to a playful serenade. " _I'll be waiting_ ," she sang, eyes glued on him, " _and someday, darling, you'll come to me when you want to settle down_." Bonnie had needed only to slant a glance at Trev to see he was eating up all the attention with a spoon.

It stuck Bonnie forcibly in that moment that Vanna's songs were all variations on a theme. She couldn't remember all the lyrics, but a few came back to her: _From the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you… He's so fine, gotta be mine… You're gonna want me for your girl…_ The sentiment was too much the same, song to song, for them to have been selected at random, and yet Vanna's having showcased them intentionally didn't seem plausible, either. Vanna had been very clear about considering Trev no more than a friend, so her expressly choosing songs to signal her availability and romantic interest in him made no sense whatsoever. It was always possible Vanna had changed her mind, but to hint at it in so coy and roundabout a fashion would have been entirely out of character for her. No, Bonnie concluded finally, it had to be just a very odd coincidence she was reading too much into.

But then, Vanna called Trev up on stage for their duet, and by midway through _You're the One That I Want_ , Bonnie's disquiet had resurfaced. It wasn't that they were murdering the song; she'd expected that. Rather, they were performing it almost flawlessly. There were a few notes Trev didn't quite hit, but apart from that, he more than held his own: he didn't miss a cue, come in late, or flubbed a single word. When Vanna improvised some saucy dance moves, Trev was quick on the uptake and answered with moves of his own. He was so very much in the groove, he even threw in some of the hammy gestures he'd learned back in high school. The two were in truly amazing synch, playing off each other with an ease and deftness that shouldn't have been possible on a first run-through. They managed, impossibly, to bring the song to a dramatic close in perfect unison, and finished, as far as Bonnie could see, without either of them having once consulted the screen for help with the lyrics, lyrics that Trev, at least, probably hadn't sung or even heard much in nearly a decade…

As they accepted their well-earned ovation, Bonnie spared a glance to gauge Steve's reaction, only to find him observing her with undisguised interest. He appeared not the least abashed to be caught staring, and returned her puzzled look with a bland smile and genial nod toward the stage. "Pretty damn good together," he volunteered, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the commotion. "Wouldn't you say?"

He watched her closely, so intent on her response that Bonnie felt more out of her depth than ever. She nearly blurted out, "What in the world is going on here?" but intuited from Steve's carefully neutral expression that he was unlikely to clue her in. Frustrated and annoyed, she took what small revenge she could, and smiled tightly for all reply before walking briskly away from the table.

She passed up the nearest rest room and searched out the one on the lower floor. Inside, she found a pandemonium of women crowding the sinks and mirrors, but, fortunately, one of the stalls soon became available, and she was able to lock herself away in relative privacy. Leaning gratefully into the jamb of the cool metal door, she tried to get her troubling thoughts in order. The crux of it all was, she simply could not bring herself to believe Trev and Vanna's duet had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. The timing, the confidence, the thorough knowledge of the song, all were inconceivable without some preparation and rehearsal. And, if they had practiced beforehand, that begged the obvious question _why_? Had it been in anticipation of this very evening? But, if so, why pretend going on to the karaoke bar was not the plan all along? Bonnie would, it was true, have tried to bow out if given sufficient warning, but why would they enact a whole charade just to ensure she join them? And, if they'd colluded against her after dinner, who was to say the "happy accident" of Vanna's running into her outside the Founding Fathers hadn't been part of the set-up, too? Perhaps Trev had pushed back the time of their meeting not because _he_ was running late, but because, otherwise, Vanna could not arrive before him.

Bonnie could hardly believe she was entertaining such ludicrous suspicions, and yet, she couldn't dismiss them from her mind. Whether true or no, she had come to feel like the butt of an elaborate prank, and she was not inclined to put a good face on it. By the time she returned to the party, she didn't have to lie about having a queasy stomach and a pounding headache. Vanna was immediately all concern and regret, bending over her anxiously, while Trev wrapped a solicitous arm around her and promised to take her home without delay. Bonnie, foreseeing this, had phoned her SteerE from the ladies' room, and it was already pulling up to the curb when Trev escorted her out of the bar. "Feel better," he said, worry creasing his brow as he stepped back from the car. "I'll call you tomorrow."

A couple of aspirin and a night's rest had done wonders for the headache, but not much for her mood. She contemplated staying put until she could get up on the right side of the bed, but the murmur of voices and the cheerful clatter of crockery drifting up to her from the terrace below her window was enough to entice her from between the sheets. When, a short while later, she entered the kitchen, she was rewarded by the sight of her brother stacking fresh-off-the-griddle pancakes on a plate. "Hey, Rip Van Winkle!" Junior said, flashing her a welcoming grin. "You're in just under the wire. Another five minutes, and these little beauties would be packed away in the freezer. Go on! Get 'em while they're hot. There're forks and napkins out on the patio table."

Bonnie didn't need to be told twice. She collected her breakfast, and moving off toward the sliding screen door, called back, "You're my favorite brother, you know that?"

Junior snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the Marines."

Out back, her other favorite brother was doing lazy laps in the pool while their grandfather looked on from the shade of the patio umbrella. He smiled to see her approach, and, just like that, what remained of her bad humor dissipated like low-lying mist burning off in the sun. She set down her plate, and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him soundly on the cheek. "Good morning, Gramps."

He eyed her with amusement as she dropped into the chair next to his, and pulled it smartly up to the table. "You're a regular ray of sunshine this morning, Sweet Tart."

"Well, the poet said it best, Gramps — pass the syrup, please?"

He obliged her. "Care to be more specific?"

"I believe the exact line is: _Junior made pancakes, all's right with the world_."

He chuckled indulgently. "Hard to start a day off any better. He learned to make them light-as-air from me, you know."

"I've heard that," Bonnie said, around a large mouthful. "Any coffee in that carafe?"

"Listen," he said, when he'd poured her a cup. "About the report from that de Clermont fellow. I read it over last night, and I noticed something that could be interesting."

She froze, knife and fork forgotten in her hands. "What'd I miss?"

"Maybe nothing. It's just a hunch I had." He reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrawing a page torn from a small-format notebook, refreshed his memory before holding it out to her. "Louise Michaud."

She frowned thoughtfully at the scrap of paper. Michaud was the maternal branch of Madeleine Lavallière's family tree, but her mother's name had been something more exotic than Louise. Then, it came to her. "Madeleine's aunt?"

He nodded. "There's some overlap between Madeleine's biography and what we know about that servant girl in the Lebrun household. You remember they had a housekeeper who brought in one of her teenage nieces to help with the chores when she got older. The girl was her sister's daughter, and — I checked that chapter on Lebrun again to be sure — one of a dozen children."

"That's right!" Bonnie tapped herself sharply on the forehead. "I should've seen that. Nice catch, Gramps!"

"It's not much to go on," he cautioned. "Large families were run-of-the-mill back then, I imagine, and what's more common than having an aunt or two? To be honest, Bonbon, I don't think there's much chance of Louise Michaud and the housekeeper being one and the same person, but as long as there's the possibility, however remote, it's worth checking out. You don't want to leave any stone unturned, even if it's just a pebble."

"I'm with you there, absolutely. I'll shoot an email off to Richard as soon as I've finished breakfast. I still have to thank him for all the research he's done so far. I really owe him."

"You owe your Grammy A, more like. I'll say this for de Clermont: he really knows his stuff. And, talking of experts, have you heard back from that Lebrun scholar?"

"Doucette? Not a word. I have no idea what's going on there. You'd think…" A single decorous ping launched itself from her wrist-phone, alerting her to an incoming call. She glanced down at the tiny screen-face: Trev. "Ignore," she said crisply into the microphone. "Reply: 'can't talk now.'"

"You could have taken that," her grandfather said, as the device resumed its default display. "I wouldn't have minded."

Bonnie applied herself to cutting up her pancakes. "I… don't feel like talking right now."

He considered her a moment, his brows gathered in a slight frown. "You two have a fight?"

"Strictly speaking, no."

"Going through a rough patch?"

She sighed, and, setting down her utensils, pushed her plate away. "It's stupid stuff, Gramps, really. You don't want to hear it."

"Try me."

She started off half-heartedly, but was soon confiding her confusion and grievances to him just as she had done times without number when she was a little girl. He listened gravely, letting her vent without interruption, and even appearing to sympathize with her indignation. When she had talked herself out at last, he said, "So… you want to know how I see it, Tootsie Pop?"

"You know I do."

He shook his head wryly. "That boy's in a tough way. He loves you, but he's not sure anymore where he stands with you. All that plotting and play-acting? It seems pretty plain to me he was trying to make you jealous. Sadly for him, it doesn't seem to have worked."


	53. Chapter 53: Pact

53\. Pact

Bonnie's first reaction was to scoff. "Trev doesn't play those kinds of games, Gramps. He doesn't have a devious bone in his body."

"Agreed, and that's why he made such a hash of it."

"And he must've know I wouldn't believe Vanna was making a real play for him. She told me herself not two weeks ago she wouldn't."

"Bad choice of accomplice on his part, then, but could be he didn't have a lot of options. Let me ask you this: what if it hadn't been Vanna but one of the other girls at the party making goo-goo eyes at your guy? Would that've gotten under your skin?"

It didn't require any great feat of the imagination to put herself in that position. Trev regularly drew admiring looks, and the previous evening had been no exception. He'd been the focus of many a shy glance as well as several openly appreciative stares. One particularly brazen co-ed had slanted a number of come-hither looks his way. "I know Trev's attractive to other women. It doesn't bother me. Are you implying it should?"

"Not at all. Jealousy's a danger sign in a relationship."

"Exactly! It'd mean I don't trust him, and I do, absolutely."

"And that's as it should be, but here's the thing: Trev doesn't seem to have the same rock-steady confidence in _you_. That's what last night was about, if you ask me: Trev trying to get a handle on how much you care. Considering the way he went about it, I'm guessing he's feeling pretty insecure on that score." He regarded her soberly a long moment. "I don't mean to tell you your business, Bonbon…"

She waved this aside. "Don't worry about it, Gramps. Go ahead."

"Well, you might want to give some serious thought as to whether you're being fair to the man. It's been — what? — three months since you turned down his proposal? I know he said he's okay with waiting, that he wouldn't press for an answer, but it's obvious being in limbo's doing a number on him. I think, under the circumstances, you'd do well to sit yourself down, search your heart and make up your mind. Soon."

Despite the warmth of the sun, Bonnie felt a chill steal over her. She wanted to protest she wasn't ready, she couldn't possibly decide, but she knew her grandfather was right: if taking her time came at the expense of Trev's serenity, the price was too high. "It's just… I'm still wavering. I can't say a whole-hearted yes, but I don't want to say no, either."

At the far end of the pool, Max heaved himself out of the water, and reached for a towel. Booth watched his lanky grandson dry himself off and stretch out on a deck chair to catch some rays. "Did I ever tell you the story behind that print of the clownfish and the anemone I commissioned from Grammy A?"

Bonnie was jarred by the non-sequitur, but went with the change. "Sure. You gave it to Grammy one Christmas because it's an illustration of symbiosis, and that's how Grammy saw your marriage."

He inclined his head. "We were riding in the car one afternoon, and she was boasting that all her male interns were hot for her, and, well, I lost it. I'm not proud to say I was crazy jealous of Grammy in the early years, and that didn't change all that much even after your mom was born and we'd been married a good while. Anyway, she read me the riot act that day, and, long story short, that was the last fit of jealousy I ever had. And you know why? Because Grammy said she couldn't survive without me. Her exact words."

Bonnie was too moved for a moment to say more than a soft "Wow, Gramps!" and then, after a beat, "I don't remember ever hearing that story."

"Never told anyone. It was a 'just ours' moment, the kind we always kept between ourselves." He fixed her with his penetrating gaze. "You understand why I'm telling you now?"

She returned his look helplessly. "It's a good question to ask in theory, Gramps, but how am I supposed to figure out if I can live without Trev? The longest we've ever been apart is the year I was in France, and, even then, he visited three times, and we video-chatted every day."

His expression softened with regret and commiseration. "There's only one sure-fire way to find out, Tootsie Pop. I think you know what that is."

A long afternoon later, Bonnie finally returned Trev's call. He was just about to head out to the Death Knellies' concert, and couldn't talk long, which suited Bonnie fine. He frowned in concern to see her still pallid and listless, but she assured him she wasn't ill, only tired, and when she suggested they go walking the next afternoon at Ashby Pond, he brightened at once. "That's a nice little park. Not much in the way of trails, though. Tell you what: the weather's supposed to hold through tomorrow night. Let's get an early start, and go a little further afield."

"Not this time."

"Okay," he said slowly, the hint of a question in his voice. "Ashby it is. Pick you up around one?"

"Make it two. And I'll meet you there."

"That's when alarm bells went off in my head," he told her. They had completed one circuit of the pond, and were sitting side by side on a low, metal bench overlooking the water, ostensibly drinking in the tranquility of the scene before them. Their backs were turned to the paved walkway several feet behind them, and the ducks who might have witnessed Bonnie's knuckling away a tear were intent on their own affairs. "I spent all of last night and this morning dreading the worst." He nudged her with his elbow. "You ruined the Death Knellies' show for me, you know that?"

She smiled wanly. "I'm sure the band managed all on their own."

"Yeah, they were a major disappointment." A mallard pair cut through the placid water, leaving a chevron of ripples in their wake. "I'm sorry, again, about Friday night. I don't know what I was thinking. You're positive we can't just turn back the clock, and pretend it never happened?"

She nodded sadly. "Looking back, I realized you've been throwing up red flags for a while. It's just taken me this long to see them for what they were. I don't mean to pretend I never suspected something was wrong. That day we hiked Great Falls, and you didn't invite me back to your place? I sensed something was up, but I had no clue you were trying to give me a taste of my own medicine. You wanted me to feel less sure of you, less complacent, but I didn't. I'm sorry about that, Trev."

"Yeah, well, I should've been straight with you instead of expecting you to read between the lines. Anyway, the problem's out in the open now. I don't see why we can't just work through it together, and move on."

"Because it's not enough to admit our faults and resolve to do better. We can't get anywhere unless we deal with the real issue, which is the uncertainty both of us feel. You need to know where we're headed as a couple, and I need to decide."

"And to do that, you need a three-month break…"

"Ten weeks."

"… so you can ascertain whether or not you can live without me." He repeated her words carefully, as if to verify he'd not misheard. At her nod, he went on, "I've got a counterproposal for you, then: move in with me for the summer, and see if you can live _with_ me. That'd make more sense."

She shook her head. "I need the chance to miss you, Trev. You're always there for me, no matter what, always loving, supportive, generous and true. I should be thanking my lucky stars, but instead I've been taking you for granted. It's hard to appreciate the value of something — or someone — you never have to do without." She broke off, defeated. "I'm not putting this well."

"No, I get it. You don't always know what you've got till it's gone." On the far bank, soaring trees crowded the water's edge, their full green canopies unmoving in the heavy air. There might have been birds among the branches, but they did not call out or sing. "So, no contact at all until September: no phoning, no texts, no running into each other accidentally on purpose, no pumping mutual friends for information. We go cold turkey starting today. And then, at the end of ten weeks, you'll have a firm answer for me. That's the deal?"

"You also have to make a conscientious effort to meet somebody else. I mean it, Trev. It has to be a real test for both of us."

He kicked first one heel, then the other, against the concrete platform, dislodging clods of dirt from his boots. At length, he asked, "And if I nix the separation, what then?"

"I give you my answer now."

"That's what I thought." He heaved a sigh heavy with resignation. "All right. I'll take the reprieve. Just one thing —- no, make it two. First, my mother asked me to remind you that it's nearly time to start planning this Fall's Fashion Show fundraiser. What do I tell her?"

Bonnie's heart squeezed at the thought of Freya. "I'll take care of it. What else?"

"Vanna. Don't be mad at her about Friday, okay? I practically had to twist her arm to get her on board. If she loses your friendship through any fault of mine…"

"She won't. I spoke to her, actually, this morning. You must've shared your misgivings with her last night, because she called to apologize for her role in upsetting me." And, perhaps not incidentally, to plead Trev's case. Vanna had urged her to believe Trev's motivation had been nothing more blameworthy than the desire to show off for his beloved, a claim Bonnie'd pretended to entertain for politeness' sake. "All's forgiven."

"Did you tell her about…" He waggled a hand between the them.

"No. I only said we were going to talk."

They lapsed into silence. A cloud moved lazily over the sun, its shadow dark on the water. The mallard pair had settled down on a little spit of land, looking, in repose, remarkably like decoys that might have graced the Senator's collection. From the pathway above, there came the rhythmic thud of footsteps, the clink of metal, and a snatch of conversation, quickly fading away: other visitors walking their dog. Trev leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked across his shoulder at her. "So… no time like the present?"

"I guess."

She pushed slowly to her feet, and turned to face him, a lump forming in her throat. He rose, too, and stood looking down at her, no more equal to the moment, apparently, than she. At last, with some effort, he produced a smile for her, and said, with assumed cheer, "You know, I think I'll do the pond loop again. Need to stretch my legs after sitting so long."

"Oh! Okay. That sounds… good."

He held out his arms, and she stepped into his warm embrace for perhaps the last time. She held him close, fighting back more tears. "Please don't think this'll be easy for me," she choked out.

He ran his hand soothingly up and down her back. "We're going to be fine, Bonita Angel. Don't go making any plans for Labor Day, you hear?" He pulled back, kissed her forehead, and set her away from him. "Now, here's what we're going to do. On the count of three, we turn and walk in opposite directions, you to the parking lot, me to the trail. Ready? One… two… three."

Bonnie had taken a dozen steps before she succumbed to the temptation to look back over her shoulder. She was just in time to see Trev striding toward the first bend in the pathway. He veered to the right, and was gone.


	54. Chapter 54: Trials

54\. Trials

Bonnie had fully expected to miss Trev sorely, but she soon discovered she'd underestimated just how difficult the first weeks of their separation would be.

She'd read somewhere that the death of a friend is equivalent to the loss of a limb, and that was initially how Trev's absence hit her: as if an essential part of herself had been lopped away, leaving her diminished, off-balance and lame. Her days lost their comfortable rhythm, and even some of their sense and direction. She'd been "Trev's girl" so long and so steadily, she didn't quite know who she was without him, or how to be alone. In the unfamiliar territory of a Trev-less world, she struggled to find her bearings and her feet.

The worst of it was, she fell repeatedly into old habits. She'd make mental notes of incidents and remarks to relay to him, as if they would be sharing the events of their day, as usual, over drinks or, if they couldn't meet, last thing before bed. She'd scroll through her social media feed, a special eye out for anything he might have posted, forgetting they'd unfollowed each other as part of their pact. While cleaning _La Coupe d'amour_ , her mind would wander to restaurants they might frequent for dinner, or weekend outings she might propose. Once, feeling a call overdue, she picked up her phone to check in with him, only to set it down again like a hot potato. Each time memory kicked in, the pain of their estrangement flared anew, as fresh and keen as if they'd only just parted. She sometimes despaired of holding out a whole ten weeks, but then she strengthened her resolve and pushed on, determined to see the trial through.

She had her consolations, chief among them, her family. Word that she needed support and distraction made the rounds somehow, and she was soon on the receiving end of calls, visits and invitations. Her aunt Annalise begged her to spend the first official weekend of summer "helping her" open up the family vacation house in Virginia Beach, and Hank and Reese, enjoying the novelty of having their cousin all to themselves, roped her into exploring the dunes with them and scavenging for sea glass and shells along the shore. With Sonny away at an academic conference, Adele pleaded "loneliness" to entice Bonnie over for a just-us-girls sleepover, a late night Adele, already sleep-deprived from her crazy hours at the hospital, could ill afford. Her mother pitched in, too, taking Bonnie out shopping on the pretext that she needed advice on selecting the several new outfits she needed for her imminent book-signing tour, and Grammy A phoned somewhat more often than usual, purportedly to catch her up on de Clermont's progress, or lack thereof.

Finding Madeleine's aunt, it turned out, had proved a simple matter: she had died in her late teens, unwed and childless, carried off in one of the flu epidemics that regularly ravaged the countryside. "Was it only Louise you were interested in?" Angela inquired. "There were two other sisters, Célestine and Bérénice."

The dead flicker of hope flamed up again. "Any aunt on her mother's side is worth a look, so, yes, if Richard wouldn't mind…"

"He's already on it. And, listen, I had this thought: what about tackling the problem from the Lebrun side of the equation? You want to establish a link between the Michaud family and Paris, right? How about starting from the other end, and looking for a connection between the Lebruns and Picardy? Maybe one of the parents had ties to the area."

"Grammy!" Bonnie said, all admiration. "That's brilliant!"

Angela smiled roguishly, her eyes dancing. "I thought so, too."

Bonnie's conscience needled her, though. "It'd mean a lot more work for Richard, Gram. I really can't ask…"

"He's only too happy to oblige, believe me, and I have to say, I'm growing more intrigued by the day, myself. You know me, sweetie: I'm a sucker for a good puzzle. Some things never change, I guess. I'll keep you posted. _À la prochaine_!"

It was a testament to the family's concern about her that even Eddie came out of the woodwork. He turned up at the compound out of the blue, and bundled Bonnie into a disreputable black clunker, alleging he was in dire need of backup for his evening's escapade. This proved to be a stakeout, but as time went by and there was no activity, suspicious or otherwise, in and about the abandoned warehouse they were watching, Bonnie began to suspect it was nothing but an empty exercise contrived to keep her occupied.

Eddie winced when she reported that Val Dunbar had been asking about him. " _Major_ miscalculation," he groaned.

"She got more attached than you bargained for."

"Big time! I thought she'd eventually let it go, but nothing doing. The woman's stalking me, Tootsie Pop."

"Catch-me-if-you-can Eddie Booth? How's that even possible?"

"It's mostly texts and voice mail," he allowed. "But she's been lying in wait for me, too, at places I used to take her."

"Paradise Lost, you mean?"

Eddie stiffened ominously, then turned to her with narrowed eyes. "What'd she tell you?"

Bonnie's audacity failed her. "About the bar?" she said, deciding to proceed with caution. "Not much. Only that it's sort of a dump, and she can't figure out why you insist on patronizing the place."

He weighed her answer carefully, and seemed to find it acceptable. "And that's it?"

"Well, she did complain about the proprietor quite a bit. Dana? Dinah?" Bonnie waited a beat for Eddie to supply the right name, but he left her hanging. "Anyway, Val made her sound like a real shrew."

"Yeah, well." A barely perceptible sigh escaped him. "She's not wrong." He resumed staring out the windshield, his mouth set in a grim line.

After a moment, Bonnie volunteered, "I can't imagine it's easy, a woman running a bar on her own. She probably has to be a tough cookie to make a go of it. I've been thinking for a while of stopping by. You know, support female enterprise…"

"No," he broke in sharply. He locked his eyes on hers, the familiar warning plain. "I mean it, Bonnie. Stay away from Paradise Lost. First off, it's in a really bad section of town, and, even if it wasn't, I wouldn't want you going there. Do you hear what I'm telling you?"

"Butt out of your business?"

"Bingo."

There was solace to be found, as well, at the Jeff. _La Coupe d'amour_ continued to reward their efforts, gaining in beauty by the day. Unobscured by varnish, subtle features came to light, and foreground figures took on new clarity. The baby cupids with their stubby wings and pudgy bodies proved an unending source of delight, each of their little faces so droll and filled with so much personality, it lightened Bonnie's heart to work on them. The two love-drunk putti sprawled blissfully in the fountain's basin were especially darling, and never failed to make her smile.

Given the choice, Bonnie would have spent her entire work day alone with the painting, but, with two weeks in the Conservation Station yet remaining, she was obliged to interact with the public every day, and so, for that hour at least, she had to rise above her melancholy as best she could. Her efforts met with some success; although she could not recapture the brightness and pep of the weeks before, the visitors seemed not to notice anything amiss and showed as much appreciation for her answers as ever. Bear, however, was another matter. The first day, he looked a question at her, but refrained from comment. The next, her spirits showing no sign of improvement, he asked if she was feeling all right. She assured him she was, and he left it at that, but over the following days, she caught him several times frowning at her thoughtfully, evidently concerned. She was afraid more than once he would ask again what was troubling her, but, in the end, he respected her reticence, and Bonnie was grateful. Her sadness was too personal to share.

Or, it was until Gabby Franklin pulled her aside one evening after work, and insisted otherwise. "It's plain as the nose on your face something's bugging you," she said. "No, don't try to deny it. No one's so down in the mouth without good cause. Come on. I'll buy you a drink, and you can tell me all about it. You'll feel better after, I guarantee it."

Oddly enough, she did. Gabby was the best kind of listener: sorry for Bonnie's situation, without pitying Bonnie herself. She limited her remarks to variations of "that stinks," or "what a shame," which was neither more or less than the truth. She didn't make useless offers of help, or give unsolicited advice. When Bonnie had talked herself out, Gabby said only, "No doubt about it, you've got it rough right now, kiddo, but you're strong. You hang in there, and let time do its thing. And meanwhile, if you ever feel the need for a little gin and sympathy, you know where to find me."

Bonnie had one other consolation, as great as the package it came in was small. Convenient as it would have been to "forget" her promise to video-chat with Danny Baer, she didn't have it in her to disappoint a child, and so phoned that Monday night as arranged. She'd screwed herself up to appear positive and enthusiastic, but his happiness to be speaking to her was so warming and so infectious, any pretense was soon unnecessary. He bubbled over with news: he'd lost his first tooth — did she _see_? —and the tooth fairy had come, and left him five dollars! He was going to graduate from kindergarten, and there was going to be a ceremony, and a party after. Everybody had to wear their best clothes, and he was going to give a speech! Did she want to hear it?

Eventually, she was able to bring the conversation round to the reason for the call. "I like your drawings of the boy and his dinosaur a lot," she told him. "It's clear they're really great pals, and have loads of fun together. I don't understand what's going on in the playground picture, though. Why are the other kids afraid?"

"Because the dinosaur is big and scary. They think he's mean."

The old _don't judge a book by its cover_ , then. "But that's just the way he looks, right?"

Danny shook his head. "He isn't very friendly. He doesn't want the boy to play with the other children. He doesn't like them."

"Oh!" She hadn't expected that twist. "So, the dinosaur's the problem?"

Danny objected to what he perceived as criticism. "He's not _bad_. He thinks the children don't play very nice. He doesn't want the boy to get hurt."

She could see the title now: _Danny and the Overprotective Dinosaur_. "I'm guessing the boy wishes he had a few more friends?"

He nodded emphatically. "So he can go over their houses sometimes, and maybe have a sleepover."

"That's not asking so much. But he has to convince the dinosaur he'll be all right, first. How's he going to do that?"

Danny shrugged, stymied.

"Tell you what: let's both give it some thought, and I'll call you this time next Monday, and we can talk about it again. How's that?"

They spoke the next week without making any discernible progress, but something in their discussion must have sparked an idea, because on the subsequent Friday afternoon, Val sent Bonnie a photo of a new drawing. It was the playground scene again, but carried forward in time. One of the children, a girl to judge by her high ponytail, had stepped out from behind the tree and stood, arms akimbo, chin up, facing the swings. The boy, his swing at rest, watched her with a tentative smile, while over his shoulder, the dinosaur glowered more fiercely than ever. Another child would take the dinosaur on, then, for the boy's sake, Bonnie deduced. She liked the possibilities.

Before leaving for the weekend, she stopped by Bear's office, as he'd requested. He was at his desk, drumming the eraser end of a pencil rapidly against some report he was reading. She knocked, and walked in. "Should I sit?" she asked.

"No," he said, rising to his feet, and tossing the pencil down. "It's a quick question. As you know, Danny graduated from kindergarten this past week."

Bonnie smiled, remembering his excitement. "Class valedictorian! Did his speech go all right? He was so proud of it."

"He did fine. So, anyway… I told him, to celebrate, we could do anything he wanted, and he's decided he wants to spend a day at the zoo."

"The National Zoo? What a great thought! He'll love it."

"That's not all." He caught her eye, his expression grave with a hint of apology. "He wants you to come."

"Me?"

He nodded soberly. "I tried to explain that it's too short notice…"

Bonnie, just recovering from her surprise, asked, "Why? When are you planning to go?"

"Tomorrow, or Sunday. Look, don't worry about it. I'm sure you have plans…"

The picture of a plucky girl confronting a fearsome dinosaur flashed across her mind. "Sunday's good for me, actually. Count me in."


	55. Chapter 55: Zoofari

55\. Zoofari

Bonnie emerged from the zoo's Visitors' Center and, taking up a position just off the main walkway, scanned the steady stream of new arrivals for a head of dark, rumpled hair bobbing above the rest. She'd arrived before the appointed time, and was prepared to wait, but suddenly, she heard her name, and, looking toward the sound, spied Danny separating himself from the crowd and moving toward her as fast as his father's restraining hand would allow. "Here we are, Bonnie!"

She watched their approach with a smile. Bear, not immediately recognizable in a ball cap, t-shirt and hiking shorts, had dressed for the July heat, but he'd made sure that Danny wore a long-sleeved, high-necked shirt in the latest sun-screen fabric. "Good morning!" she said, as they drew near. "Isn't this weather glorious? Perfect for a day at the zoo!"

Bear glanced about at the horde of visitors thronging the walk and milling noisily around them. "Half of metro D. C. seems to have come to the same conclusion."

"It won't be so crowded once we're on the trails. Speaking of which…" She looked expectantly from Danny to Bear, and back again. "Have you worked out an itinerary, or is the plan just to wander around?"

Danny hopped excitedly in place. "I want to see the pandas, and the elephants, and the lions…!"

Bear smiled wryly at Bonnie over his son's head, and began to tow him gently back toward the walkway. Bonnie fell in on Danny's other side, and had gone only a few steps, when his small hand reached up and slipped into hers. "… and the tigers, and the monkeys, and the gorillas."

"It's a good thing Bonnie came ready for a long day," Bear interjected, when Danny paused for breath. "Did you get a look at her backpack? What the heck do you have in that thing?"

"Oh, the usual stuff: bottled water and snacks, of course. Sun screen, a first aid kit, maps, a print-out of today's events, pencils, sketch pads… Anything that might conceivably come in handy. It's how my brothers and I always did the zoo when we were kids. My grandparents brought us once or twice a year, and my grandmother organized every visit like we were going out on a month-long dig."

"That would be your grandmother Brennan?"

"Yes, my Grammy T. She was a famous scientist, Danny, and just the most amazing person ever! She wasn't a biologist, but she loved nature and wildlife, and knew all kinds of interesting facts about animals and their habitats.

"Take pandas," Bonnie continued, gesturing to the sign pointing the way to the Panda House. "I remember seeing Ping Bao for the first time, and hearing Grammy tell me he had to eat thirty pounds of bamboo every day for his tummy to feel full. That can take anywhere from twelve to sixteen hours, which is why, when you see pandas, they're usually either eating or asleep."

When it came their turn to pay homage to the zoo's star attraction, they found Ping Bao seated majestically at the front of his glassed-in enclosure, tearing through his morning bamboo to the oohs and aahs of his adoring public. In time, they moseyed on to the elephant overlook ("Do you see the dirt on the elephant's back, Danny? That's how elephants protect their skin from sunburn. And did you know elephants hear some sounds through their feet?") and, after that, they followed the American Trail down past wolf, beaver and bald eagle exhibits ("Eagles have two sets of eyelids, Danny, one of them see-through.") to the pinniped pool area. "Seals can even sleep underwater," Bonnie said, as one of the sleek creatures glided smoothly past the observation window. "They can hold their breath for almost two hours. They slow their hearts down, and that conserves oxygen."

"Wow," Danny said. "That's super cool! I wish I could do that!"

"You're a walking wikipedia," Bear said, as Danny led the way back to the surface level. "I can't believe you remember so much of what your grandmother told you."

"I'm surprised, myself, honestly. It's this place, I guess. Even with all the recent renovations, it's enough the same that it takes me right back. Those were happy times."

High-pitched shrieks drew them to the Tide Pool where children of all ages were busy investigating small jets of water and running into the "waves" that gushed sporadically from beneath a rough pile of rock. Danny, relieved of cap, shoes and socks, was soon ankle-deep in swirling water, and splashing with the best of them. At the next tidal surge, he dropped gleefully onto his bottom, and let the water rush over him, drenching his shorts and much of his shirt. Beside Bonnie on a poolside ledge, Bear emitted a small sigh. "I don't suppose you packed a towel in that rucksack of yours?"

"His clothes will dry in no time," Bonnie said, lightly. She fanned some of the cooled air toward her face. "That's got to feel so good in this heat. If I was only twenty years younger… Oh!" Bear had retrieved an insulated bottle from his backpack, and was holding a cup out to her. "Thanks!"

He filled it to the brim. "You can drink it, or pour it over your head," he said, tipping out a second cup for himself. "Up to you."

Bonnie chuckled, and downed a large swallow. The water was deliciously cold. Bear topped off both their cups, and they settled back to watch Danny play. As he bent over the mini-fountains and squealed with delight at each new flood, his little face was so bright, his movements so lively, Bonnie couldn't help but remark, "He has such a sunny nature, Bear!"

"Runs in the family."

She rounded on him, and, seeing his lips twitch, burst out laughing. "Of course! How did I miss it!"

They turned back to Danny just as he clambered up onto the mound of rock. Bear made to rise, but Danny's bare feet no sooner hit the craggy surface than he was jumping down of his own accord. "He's an easygoing kid, on the whole."

"And has been from birth?"

"Actually, he was a very cranky baby, cried pretty much all the time. It was always something — colic, ear infections, rashes. And as for sleep, forget it. He'd maybe do three or four hours at a stretch."

"But he grew out of all that."

"For the most part. Getting him to eat is still a struggle, and he doesn't always sleep through the night even now, but that's about it. Which reminds me, fair warning: Danny's been up since the crack of dawn, so, the way I figure it, he's a couple of good hours — three, tops — from a possible melt-down."

"Yikes! We'd better get a move on, then."

They managed to lure him away with promises of lions and tigers down the trail, and maybe the glimpse of a giant anteater along the way. As they walked up the exit ramp, Danny wanted to know if they couldn't go to the beach soon, maybe tomorrow, Bonnie, too. "Tomorrow's Monday, buddy. Daddy has to work. But we can go every day when I'm on vacation, like we did last year. Remember that?"

"You're taking time off this summer?" Bonnie said, nonplussed. "But _La Coupe d'amour_ …?"

"Cummings wants it done by mid-August anyway, so I'm hoping to take one, or both, of the weeks after that. Danny'll finally be done with his various camps by then, too, so that works out."

She didn't think she imagined the hint of bitterness in his voice. "Oh… right! The Jeff camps. Your mom told me about that, Danny. She was so surprised and excited about your scholarship! I was surprised, too. _Very_ surprised," she added, for Bear's benefit. "Not because you don't deserve it — you're a very talented boy! It's just, I didn't know there _was_ such a thing as the Vincent Foundation until your mom mentioned it."

Bear studied her over Danny's head, his regard steady. "Really? Rosa never said a word to you?"

"About doing something for Danny? No. If Val hadn't shared the news, I wouldn't be any the wiser, which, I believe, is how Rosa wanted it."

"Who's Rosa?" Danny said.

They exchanged a look, disconcerted. Bonnie left it to Bear to answer, but as he made no immediate reply, she said, "Rosa's a special friend of mine, Danny, and one of my favorite people! I hope you get to meet her sometime. I think you'd like her, and I know she'd love you."

She forestalled further questions by asking Danny what other plans he might have for the summer, and, as these included swimming lessons, Fourth of July fireworks, and learning to ride a bike without training wheels, the subject lasted them all the way to the lions' domain, where, happily, Leo and his pride were out in full force. Unlike the foolish humans standing out in the scorching sun, the lions were content to lie about in the shade, their activity limited to the lazy flick of a tail or occasional cavernous yawn. A number of boys, hoping to incite a response from Leo, roared out challenges, but he merely fixed them with unblinking yellow eyes, superb in his disdain. After a while of watching this _tableau vivant_ , Bonnie said, "The lions have the right idea, if you ask me. What do you say we find a spot under those trees on the hill, and take a short rest?"

"We could have lunch," Bear suggested. "It's about that time. We brought fruit and sandwiches, but if you'd rather eat at one of the restaurants…?"

"I'd much rather picnic, and, anyway, did you see the waiting lines to get in? Even the food carts are mobbed."

A great many families were already camped out on the hill, but they managed to claim a patch of grass for their own. Bear brought a brown paper bag out of his backpack, and Bonnie, rummaging through her own, pulled out binoculars, a deck of playing cards, a travel pack of towelettes, and a much-dented cookie tin before finally producing a bright red bandana to serve in lieu of a picnic cloth. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grapes in this container and orange sections in this one," Bear announced, setting out the feast.

"And the Booth-Brennan Zoo Brigade super-snack," Bonnie said, collecting the tin and adding it to the spread.

Danny looked from the tin to Bonnie with interest. "What is it?"

"Sorry," she said, with a shake of her head. "No revealing the contents until everybody has eaten at least half a sandwich." She reached for one of the square packets, and, removing the wrapper, handed Danny one triangle and kept the other for herself. "Family tradition, I'm afraid. You, too, Bear."

"That's called 'bribery' where I come from," he said mildly, helping himself.

"Only when parents do it."

Danny made such quick work of his sandwich, Bonnie recommended he have a few grapes while he waited for her to finish. "Okay, now," she said at last, prying the tight lid off with some difficulty, "I know they look like unappetizing brown lumps, but don't let appearances fool you. These are Grammy T's signature vegan power cookies, especially formulated to boost energy and endurance. And we're going to need both, because — I don't know if you noticed this, Danny — we've been walking downhill all day and now we're going to have to climb back up. It's pretty steep in places, too. Plus, they're really delicious," she added, as Danny, his misgivings obvious, sat on his hands. She offered the tin ruefully to Bear. "I guess I should have led with that."

Danny watched intently as Bear bit into a cookie, chewed thoughtfully, and then gave an appreciative nod. "These really _are_ good. Not too sweet, not heavy." He broke off a small piece for Danny. "Here. Have a taste."

It looked, at first, as though Danny would balk, but, encouraged by his father's example, he put the morsel gingerly in his mouth, and… smiled. "I like it," he said, surprised.

Bonnie split a cookie in two, and held half out to him. "If you finish that, you can have more."

Bear was already reaching for a second. "Did you make these yourself?"

"I did. And, before you ask, no, you can't have the recipe. It's a closely-guarded family secret. You can, on the other hand, take the rest of this batch home with you, since I can always make more. Only, not in the tin. It's…"

"The family's traditional power cookie tin," Bear said, gently mocking.

Bonnie grinned at him. "How'd you guess?"

They'd eaten their fill, and were returning the remains of their picnic to their respective packs when Bonnie removed an object wrapped in colored paper from her rucksack. "What have we here?" she said, feigning surprise. "Why, it looks like a present! Who could it be for?" She made a show of peering at the gift tag. "It says _Danny_!"

"For me?" Eyes round, he took the gift from her and stared at it in wonder.

"You shouldn't have," Bear said, sounding like he meant it.

"It's not everyday a boy graduates from kindergarten! Top of his class, too. Go ahead, Danny. Open it."

With help from Bear, the paper was torn away in no time. "It's a book, Daddy. Look!" He ran his finger under the title. " _Sammy the Seal_."

"It's the story of a seal who visits the city for the day, just like people from the city visit his zoo. It's pretty funny."

"Can we read it now?"

"Sure," Bonnie said. "If that's okay with you, Bear?"

"Danny has something to say to you, first. Right, buddy?"

"Thank you, Bonnie," he said, compliantly. "Can we read now, please?"

Sammy's adventures in the world beyond his zoo home were so entertaining and so charmingly illustrated, Danny could not be satisfied reading through them only once. The first time, impatient to hear the story, he let Bonnie read aloud to him, and the next go-round, with his father's assistance, he did the honors himself. He sighed happily when they turned the last page a second time. "I like that story."

"As much as _Danny and the Dinosaur_?" Bonnie asked.

He thought about it. "Almost."

The heat had abated noticeably when, at last, they left the shelter of the trees. Whether it was the power cookies working their magic, or the refreshing effects of their long rest in the shade, over the next two hours Danny showed none of the signs of irritability and truculence that presaged a full-blown temper tantrum. They'd visited the tiger exhibit and toured both the Great Ape and Reptile Houses before Danny began to whine and hang on their hands, but, fortunately, a pair of orangutans took to their aerial walkway about then and distracted him from his tired legs and achy feet. Another short break for ice cream, a last steep climb, and they were standing once again in front of the Visitors' Center.

Bear and Danny were headed into the gift shop. "Can Bonnie have a souvenir, too, Daddy?"

"Oh! No, thanks, sweetie!" she said, crouching down to his level. "I really have to go, but I had so much fun today. Thanks for inviting me. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

She rose to her feet, and offered Bear a parting smile. "Well." His expression was hard to read, some awkward mix of disquiet, warmth, and humor. "Good-bye, Bear."

"Bonnie," he said, as she was about to turn away. "I'm glad you could make it today. I learned a lot."

She winced in playful apology. "Sorry about being such a know-it-all. That gets old quick, I know."

"I wasn't talking about the animal trivia, though that was interesting, too. Have a safe trip home. See you tomorrow."


	56. Chapter 56: Salmagundi

56\. Salmagundi

"Thanks, again, for making time for us, Bonnie. Did I happen to mention you were really great?"

Bonnie took a sip of wine, and, setting her glass down on the table, grinned at Vanna. "Once or twice. I'm glad you think the talk went well. I was a little nervous, I'll admit. Speaking in public always gives me butterflies."

"Honestly? I never would've guessed! You looked completely at ease on stage, very open and natural. The passion you have for conserving great works of art really came through. Personally, I thought you were the best speaker of the afternoon, and, if the number of girls who flocked to have tea at your table is any indication, I'd say I wasn't alone in that opinion! From where I was sitting, it looked like you and the girls were having a lively conversation. I'll bet you didn't get more than a gulp of tea and half a cucumber sandwich in all that time."

"You're right on the money," Bonnie said, with a chuckle. "And now I'm famished, so thanks for suggesting an early dinner."

"It's the least I could do. And besides, it's been too long since we've talked. What's it been? Three weeks?"

Their server arrived with their salmagundi, its components arranged on the platter with such artistry Bonnie had to exclaim at its beauty. Vanna sent the solicitous young man off with a smile and her compliments to the chef.

Bonnie selected a marinated mushroom cap from the array. "I know I promised to stay in touch, Van, and I'm sorry I haven't called. I've had so much going on…"

"Say no more. I understand. I've been up to my eyeballs, too. A lot more goes into putting together a fashion show than I ever imagined. But then, you know that."

"Freya running you ragged?"

"Not too bad. That checklist you mailed me has been a godsend, so thanks for that. Oh, and the door prizes you solicited have started coming in, very generous some of them."

"Good to hear. I don't expect any of the promised donations to fall through, but if anyone needs reminding, let me know and I'll follow up on it. And don't hesitate to call me if you have questions, or if you need help with anything else, all right?"

"Thanks. I'll try to keep it to a minimum. I know you've got your own fish to fry." She picked up an asparagus spear with her fingers, and nibbled one end. "Which reminds me: how's the Lebrun painting coming along? Are you making good progress? Any setbacks?"

"No, thank goodness. We're right on schedule. We're finally done removing the old varnish, and we're on to filling in the small areas of paint loss. Then, it'll be time to lay on a fresh coat of varnish, and let the painting dry. Another two weeks should do it, three at the outside."

"So, you'll have it finished in plenty of time for the gala?"

Glass in hand, Bonnie's arm stilled mid-lift. "You know about that?"

Vanna, her mouth momentarily full, nodded. "My parents are Jeff Society members. Their tickets came in yesterday's mail, and — can you believe the selfish beasts? — they plan on going themselves instead of letting their favorite daughter use them."

"The nerve," Bonnie said, enjoying Vanna's mock-outrage. She helped herself to a grilled shrimp. "Are you serious about wanting to attend?"

"Are you kidding? From what I hear, it's going to be the premier event of the Fall season! I suppose I could spring for a membership of my own," she mused aloud. "The Jeff is certainly worth supporting."

"You'll get no argument here." Bonnie hesitated, torn between conflicting loyalties. "I really shouldn't discourage you," she began carefully. "Raising money is the purpose of the gala after all, but, as it happens, I can probably get you a ticket. It'll be a work evening for me, but, even so, I'm allowed to bring a guest."

"Bonnie!" Vanna's expression softened with gratitude. "That's incredibly nice of you! I couldn't possibly accept, though. It'll be September by then, and you'll want that ticket for…" She broke off, her eyes widening in mortification. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

Bonnie hoped the twinge of pain hadn't shown on her face. "Please don't apologize. The subject was bound to come up, and, since it has, I can assure you _all_ the Wyndham-Pryces are Society members, even Emma. They'll have tickets, and to spare."

"I see. Well, in that case, l may take you up on your offer, but only if I can't wangle a ticket on my own. And, in the meantime, don't let that stop you from inviting someone else. Preferably," she added, with a playful leer, "someone of the tall, dark and handsome variety."

Bear, dressed in black tie, appeared suddenly in Bonnie's thoughts: broad-shouldered Bear in a form-fitting jacket and starched white shirt, dark hair barely tamed, eyes stormy with irritation, an ebony butterfly resting uneasily against the strong, tan column of his neck. She felt a prickle of heat along her cheeks, and, dropping her eyes, reached for her water glass.

Vanna might have numbered mind-reading among her talents, for she said, "Your hunky colleague will be attending, too, I suppose. Dr. Foxx, wasn't it?"

"Baer," Bonnie supplied, only to catch the twinkle in Vanna's blue eyes too late. "Oh!" She smiled sheepishly. "That went right over my head."

"And I thought it was so clever! Anyway, Dr. Baer… I don't like to harp, Bonnie, but you _did_ promise to introduce me."

"And I will, scout's honor, at the first opportunity."

"Which won't be till the gala, no doubt. Ah, well." She sighed theatrically. "I've waited this long. What's another month?" She popped a perfectly round cherry tomato in her mouth, and, chewing, regarded Bonnie speculatively the while. "I don't mean to pry," she said finally, "and I'll understand if you don't want to say, but I _have_ to ask."

Bonnie, mildly alarmed, met Vanna's gaze warily. "Okay…"

"What're you wearing to the gala? What?" she objected, as Bonnie, relieved, broke out in a laugh. "I wasn't trying to be funny."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just, I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't _that_. Actually, I would've brought up the subject, myself, if you hadn't. I've been toying with this idea for a dress, but I'm not feeling great about it. I could use your advice and maybe your help."

"Oooh, a fashion consult!" Vanna leaned in, all bright attention. "Let's hear it."

"I don't know how well you remember _La Coupe d'amour_." Bonnie picked up her vid-screen, and scrolled through her photo library for a shot of the painting. "Here," she said, passing the screen across the table. "Take a look at the woman's garment."

Vanna did as she was bid. "I can see why you don't call it a dress. It looks like she wrapped herself in a sheet, knotted one end in place, and called it a day." She pored over the image a few moments longer, then handed the vid-screen back. "So, what're you thinking? Not to copy that look, surely?"

"Not slavishly, no. The girls need to be decently covered, for starters. What I want, ideally, is a dress that recreates the flow of the woman's draperies, but as an illusion, an effect of design. Let me show you." She cued up a new photo, and held out the device. "This isn't exactly what I have in mind, but it comes fairly close."

Vanna needed only one glance at the picture for her face to light up. "Oh, Bonnie!" she breathed. "That's just stunning. It looks like a gown a Greek goddess might wear. And I see what you mean. The ruching on the bust, the folds that drape across the front and over the side, the tie with the trailing ends — there's a sense of movement to this dress that recalls the one in the painting without imitating it." She took a last appreciative look, and handed the screen back. "I take it that's the point: for the dress to be a tribute of sorts to the painting?"

Bonnie nodded. "My tip of the hat." She grimaced uncertainly. "I don't know. What do you think? Genius, or the lamest notion ever?"

"For my part, I think it's brilliant. In fact, I like the idea so much, if you don't go for it, I will."

Their server appeared to inquire how they were doing, and if he could bring them another round from the bar. When he had gone, Vanna said, "You mentioned you could maybe use my help?"

"Yes, I was wondering if you could recommend a good dressmaker, someone who can work from a sketch, or collaborate on a design. It's looking more and more like I'm not going to find my dream dress locally or online."

"I know just the person! The wonderful Emily Krebs! She made all my pageant gowns back in the day, and they were all exquisite. She's in crazy demand, but I can get you in to see her." Vanna paused and fixed Bonnie with a straight look. "On one condition."

"Shoot."

"That I get to be part of the process, start to finish."

Bonnie grinned, delighted. "I was hoping you'd offer."

They went on to talk of other things: of the re-election campaign, which would be scaling back for the month of August, so the Senator and staffers alike could recharge their batteries in anticipation of the big push in the Fall; of the successful pageant Vanna's mother had recently staged; of their summer travels to date, which in Vanna's case had included a weekend at the Wyndham-Pryce lake house. They did not speak of Trev, but he was present in that very silence, a ghost at the table. Bonnie longed to ask how he was doing, if he was all right, but she managed, albeit with difficulty, to restrain herself. At one point, to judge by a sudden diffidence, Vanna was on the brink of broaching the subject herself but she seemed to think better of the impulse, and promptly steered the conversation another way. "So, what's new with that dashing cousin of yours? Seen anything of him lately?"

"Just last week," Bonnie confirmed. "We had a family get-together at Virginia Beach. Everybody came, including Eddie. _And_ he brought a guest."

"The same blond as before?"

"No, a different woman." Bonnie had nearly gaped in surprise when he'd introduced the diminutive brunette at his side as his "business partner, Deena Clemens." Small-boned and whip-thin, with a waif's over-large dark eyes and short, choppy hair, Deena could not have been further from the tall, blue-eyed blond of Bonnie's imagining. Her reputation for being shrewish was, however, close to the mark. While not precisely rude, she did not put herself out to be sociable, and came across as prickly and aloof. Bonnie had the distinct impression that Deena had not wanted to come, and was steamed at Eddie for having compelled her, somehow, to do so. They'd been the last to arrive, and, after an argument conducted in furious whispers, the first to leave, but, even watching them together for only that short time, Bonnie'd come away with a startling conviction. "He'd probably deny it to high heaven if you asked him, but I think it's safe to say he's off the market."

Vanna pulled an exaggerated frowny face. "Well, if that isn't just my luck! The good ones get snapped up so fast, you notice that?" They shared a moment of wry philosophical amusement, and then Vanna, a tad over-bright, pressed on, "So… how about you? Seeing anyone?"

Bear flashed on Bonnie's mind again. Was she seeing him? It was a question without a clear cut answer. In the weeks since their visit to the zoo, they'd spent many hours together outside of work, all at Danny's instigation. On the days Bear picked him up from Jeff camp and gave him dinner out before taking him home, it was so consistently "Can Bonnie come, too, Daddy?" that eventually she received a standing invitation to join them whenever she liked. Not wanting to exceed her welcome, she made an excuse every once in a while, but in the main she accepted readily. Those evenings were all about Danny, but the camaraderie they shared over pizza seemed to carry over into their work days as well. Bear was no longer quite so guarded with her, or so stiff. He seemed lighter in spirit, somehow, more apt to take a joke or dish one out, more engaged. Their work relationship, too, had undergone a change; he treated her increasingly less as an assistant and more as a junior partner, or so it felt to her. Sometimes, she wondered if it wasn't all wishful thinking on her part… Bonnie became suddenly conscious of Vanna eyeing her expectantly. "Er… yes," she said, making her decision. "Yes, I am. Want to check him out?"

"Please!" Vanna took one look at the photo Bonnie passed her, and let out a peel of laughter. "Oh, Bonnie! What a cutie! What's his name?"

"Danny. He's been most persistent in his attentions, let me tell you."

"I don't doubt it. What's that he's holding?"

"His final project for his 'Mythical Monsters' summer camp. It's his version of a chimera."

Vanna shook her head admiringly, and handed the vid-screen over. "He's darling. I hope you don't mind my pointing out that you have a good twenty years on him. What is he, all of four?"

"Five, actually, but he'll be six next week."

"Well, in that case!" She smiled, her eyes alight with merriment. Then, the laughter fading, she said with feeling, "As long as he's the one, it's worth the wait."

The bill had been settled, and they were preparing to head out when Vanna said, "Are you familiar with Charles Dickens' last novel? _Our Mutual Friend_?"

Bonnie regarded her quizzically. "I'm not much for nineteenth-century literature. Why? Are you reading it?"

"In a manner of speaking. I thought you might be interested to know that _Our Mutual Friend_ is good. Not great, but fine, under the circumstances."

 _Our Mutual Friend_ , indeed. "I've been wondering for a while, so thanks for telling me, Vanna. It's very good to know."


	57. Chapter 57: Surrender

57\. Surrender

Bonnie stepped past Adele and into the foyer of her cousins' condo. "Are you sure you don't mind? I've been making such a pest of myself lately."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Adele enveloped Bonnie in a quick hug, and then led the way into the living area. "You're smart to put off driving down to the beach house until tomorrow. I saw on the news traffic's so bad on the roads just now, the highways might as well be parking lots." She rounded the breakfast bar into the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, "Have you eaten? There's ratatouille left over from supper, or I could whip you up a sandwich…"

Bonnie dropped her overnight bag onto a chair, and managed a small smile. "Thanks, Dell. I'm not hungry."

"Something to drink, then. What'll you have?" She opened the refrigerator, and peered inside. "I've got mineral water, soda, some apple juice left over from the birthday party…" She extricated a bottle of wine, and held it up to the light. "There's a glass of Pinot Grigio left. You like that, right? Care to polish it off?"

Bonnie wondered for a moment what Adele would say if she asked for a whiskey, neat. "Sure, sounds good."

Adele set the bottle on the counter, and fetched a glass down from an overhead cabinet. "I'd join you, but, as you can see from my ultra-chic outfit, I'm on duty in a couple of hours."

"Night shift?"

"Tonight _and_ tomorrow." She poured out the wine, and slid the glass across the granite top to Bonnie. "Maybe with so many people out of town for the weekend, it'll be quiet in the ER." She fixed herself a tall glass of strong ice tea, and motioned Bonnie to follow her into the sitting area. "Speaking of beachgoers, Sonny called just before you got here. He's decided to stay on through Sunday."

"That's great." Bonnie sank onto one end of the couch, and, toeing off her sandals, folded her legs beneath her. "Gramps'll be in his glory. He doesn't get to spend nearly as much time one-on-one with Sonny as he'd like."

"That goes both ways. He may not show it, but Sonny took losing Grandma Brennan very hard, particularly as it was only six months after Grandma Stinson died. It made him appreciate just how precious the time he has left with Gramps really is, and he's determined to make the most of it."

"Well, I'm glad for both their sakes they were able to have the house to themselves this past week. From what I hear, the place'll be packed to the rafters going forward. Annalise and the boys are going down tomorrow for the rest of the month, Junior and Max are planning to stay over next weekend and a few days after, and then, Uncle Parker and Aunt Naomi will be heading down, which means Eddie will probably put in an appearance."

"Ah!" Adele said, with a mischievous smile. "But will that be with, or without, the inscrutable Deena? That's what _I_ want to know."

They went on to discuss this intriguing question, and other matters relating to the family. When, at length, they'd exhausted the subject, Adele considered her guest a long, silent moment, her expression at once wry and sympathetic. "So… do you want to tell me what's bothering you, or would you rather I pretend not to notice you're blue?"

Bonnie winced self-consciously. "I thought I was covering up pretty well."

"Hiding your feelings has never been your strong suit, honey bun. All I'm saying is, if you want to talk, I'm happy to listen, or we can do the polite fiction thing. Your call."

Bonnie dropped her gaze from Adele's kind eyes to the glass she held loosely cupped in her hand. There remained a few more swallows of wine, she was glad to see, even as she wished once again for something stronger. "I… ah… had to face up to a certain unwelcome truth about myself today. This evening, actually. At the bar." She laughed shortly, without humor. "During 'happy hour,' ironically."

Adele frowned in concern. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Everything." She caught Adele's pained look, and shook her head in apology. "It's like this: we were going out for drinks — the usual Friday Night Regulars — and one of my colleagues, Gabby Franklin, suggested I invite Bear to join us. It was kind of a dare, actually. I was positive he'd say no, and she was just as sure he'd say yes if I asked him. I don't know why I ever doubt the woman! She's never wrong."

"So, Bear surprised you, and agreed to come along. I imagine that was awkward for everyone, him being your supervisor and all."

"It was, at the beginning. Everyone was kind of freaked, very stiff and careful about what they said, but then, Bear told some funny stories about his early days at the Jeff — all at his own expense — and, between that and the booze working its magic, everyone started to loosen up and jump into the conversation, and, just like that, we were the same loud, free-wheeling crew as always."

Adele took a judicious sip of her tea. "Sounds like a good time to me."

"It was. The best. Bear was… well, incredible: easy, open, even talkative. I saw people give each other looks like 'who is this guy, and what's he done with Rudesby?' Most of them had never seen that side of him before."

"Well, I can only speak for myself and, admittedly, it was one small sample size, but I have to say I found him perfectly good company. He must have thanked me three times for hosting Danny's party, as if it was some great favor on my part instead of pure pleasure. I'm so glad you let me help with the arrangements, Bonnie. It was such a treat watching Danny and Luc splash around in the pool, and cannonball from the diving board. They were so cute together, like frisky little otters. Did they really meet at camp only a month ago?"

"Yep. They did two sessions together, and were inseparable by the end of week one. Caro's said she blesses the day she enrolled Luc in camp. Danny's just the kind of friend she would've picked for Luc herself, and, as you might expect, she's already grown fond of Danny for his own sake. Plus, as luck would have it, the boys'll be attending the same elementary school in the Fall, so they'll each start off with a ready-made pal."

"Sweet! By the way, just so you know, Danny's not the only Baer high on Caro's list. 'Such a lovely mon,'" Adele said, doing a creditable imitation of Caro Jolicoeur's Jamaican accent. "Of course, she might've been referring to Bear's looks rather than his character, but we digress. Let's see: you were at the bar, everyone was having a helluva time, and then…?"

Bonnie swallowed hard. "And then, one of the guys told this really salty anecdote about a prank he pulled back in grad school, and we all burst out laughing, and Bear looked across at me, and… smiled. That's all, Dell. He smiled at me like he was all lit up inside, and my heart did this painful thing in my chest like a somersault, and I couldn't breathe…" Her throat closed up again at the memory. She raised her glass, and drank deeply. After a moment, she was able to continue, "All that talk about hearts standing still, or jumping for joy… I always thought those were figures of speech, but the sensation's real, Dell, and not at all pleasant."

"I know, sweetie. I've been there."

Bonnie sighed. "So… that's it. I'm done kidding myself. It's not a physical attraction that'll run its course. I'm not going to come to my senses, and get back on track. I love Bear, Dell. I wish to God I didn't, but wishing's not going to change anything. My heart's set on him. It's no good pretending otherwise."

Adele set her glass aside, and, rising from her chair, dropped down beside Bonnie, and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "You realized you love Bear. And that's an awful thing, is it? Why is that, hon? Explain it to me."

Bonnie shook her head glumly. "He's such a bad bet, Dell. The people's he loved before — his father, his ex-wife — they let him down very badly, and now, he'd rather shut everyone out than risk being hurt like that again."

"And you're afraid he'll never change?" Adele squeezed Bonnie's arm reassuringly. "Hearts are broken every day, hon. It takes some folks longer than others, sure, but everyone recovers sooner or later. Bear will, too."

"Will he, Dell? I'm not so sure."

"What's with the pessimism?" Adele said, in a rallying tone. "Weren't you just telling me he's been different lately? Less distant, more approachable at work? And how about tonight? He could've turned your invitation down, and gone his solitary way, but he didn't. That's a good sign, surely?"

"Yes, but I can't trust it. As open as he was tonight, he could be just as closed off on Monday. It's never one step forward without another step back."

"He's sending mixed messages."

Bonnie nodded. "And I don't know which one to believe. Does he love me? Does he not? I may as well pluck petals from a daisy as look to Bear for an answer."

Adele leaned away, and regarded Bonnie curiously. "Do you seriously doubt he has feelings for you? Because, let me tell you, _I_ don't. Bear may not have run up the white flag yet, like you have, but that man loves you, Bonnie. And I'm not the only one who sees it. Caro took it for granted you two were a couple, and it sounds like your co-worker — Gabby, is it? — was trying to make a point today."

Weeks ago, Sébastien had pronounced Bear jealous, and Rosa, too, had insisted he was smitten. "I _want_ to believe it. You can't know how much. I also want to believe it took us forever to decide on a varnish for _La Coupe d'amour_ because he'd rather be with me than go on vacation, and that he helped me with my submission for the Lebrun symposium because he can't bear the thought of being in Paris without me."

"When he might only have been taking extra precautions with an extremely valuable painting on the one hand, and being a conscientious mentor on the other. I see."

They were silent a long moment, Adele mute with sympathy, Bonnie lost in thought. At length, Bonnie volunteered in a quiet voice, "I told Bear I was having second thoughts about applying for the Louvre Fellowship, that maybe it wasn't the best time for me to commit to a year in Paris, that I could still learn a lot at the Jeff."

Adele's brows shot up. "Do you think he understood what you were really asking?"

"That my decision depended on him? I think so."

" _And_? What did he say?"

"That it was entirely up to me, that I was the only person who could decide what I wanted and what I could handle, that the Jeff couldn't begin to offer the training I could expect at the Louvre, and that he'd be sorry to think I lacked the ambition to compete for a prestigious position, especially one that had practically landed in my lap."

Adele flinched. "Ouch!"

"Not exactly what I was hoping for," Bonnie said, dryly.

"To be fair, though, as your supervisor, what other answer could he give? His first consideration has to be what's best for your career, not what he wants personally."

"That's true, but he might've said I'd be missed at the Jeff, and that if the fellowship fell through, he hoped I'd consider staying on in my current position. That's what Dr. Cummings said, and he's a consummate professional."

It was Adele's turn to sigh. "Bear's going to be a tough nut to crack, hon, no doubt about it, but, as they say, 'the course of true love never did run smooth.' Especially if your last name's Booth, it seems. Gramps and Grammy had their troubles, famously, then Sonny and I almost didn't get together. Now, Eddie's tearing his hair out over Deena, and you're struggling with Bear."

"It's a family curse, is what you're saying."

"Looks like." She sat back, and considered Bonnie with rueful affection. "Shall I tell you what Gramps said to Sonny when he was at his most discouraged, thinking I'd never marry him? It was advice Gramps had acted on, himself, and swore by." She paused, and, holding Bonnie's gaze steady, said, "Patience and hope. That's what it took to win me over, and that's what you'll need to win Bear." She tightened her grip on Bonnie's arm, and gave it a heartening shake. "You're a fighter, Bonnie. You're strong, and you're resilient. You dig in, and lay siege to Bear's walls, and before you know it, they'll come tumbling down. I _know_ it."

A sudden, low buzzing made them both jump. Adele frowned in annoyance. "My alarm," she said, silencing the noise. She hesitated, eyeing Bonnie uncertainly. "I hate to run out on you like this…"

Bonnie uncurled her legs, and rose slowly to her feet. "Don't worry about me, Dell. I'll be fine."

Adele stood as well, and, taking Bonnie's shoulders between her hands, searched her cousin's eyes. "Do you feel _any_ better?"

"Much." Bonnie wrapped her arms around Adele, and hugged her close. "Thanks for putting up with me. You're an angel. If there's anything more trying than listening to someone moan about their love life, I don't know what it is."

Before leaving for work, Adele made sure Bonnie had everything she needed for the night and next morning, and, with a last embrace, was out the door. Bonnie washed up, slipped into her pajamas, and climbed gratefully into bed. Though tired, she was too wound up to sleep; her restless mind ranged far and wide, revisiting events both recent and removed in time. Various conversations came back to her, as well as stories she'd been told or watched unfold: her grandparents' rocky romance, her grandfather Hodgins' long, painful waiting for Angela, her own parents' tempestuous courtship and early marriage. She found herself lingering over the Wyndham-Pryce's love story, and drawing inspiration from it. The Senator had rebuffed Freya repeatedly, had even tried to promote another man's suit, but Freya had never wavered. She'd endured his mistreatment, and had her reward. Patience and hope, yes; those were the keys. She would wear down Bear's resistance, however long it took. She would never give in to despair…

She sat bolt upright, startled awake by her phone. Momentarily disoriented, she fumbled for the device, and nearly dropped it. She checked the caller id. "Dell?"

"Bonnie! Did I wake you? I'm so sorry…"

"No, no, I just dozed off a minute ago. What'd you need?"

"Me? Nothing. No, sweetie, listen: I didn't think you'd want to wait till morning to find out. They've just brought him in by ambulance…"

Bonnie felt a sudden chill race through her. "My God, Dell? Who? Who are you talking about?"

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. It's Danny. Danny Baer."

A/N: Sincere apologies for the long delay in posting. I was in France the first two weeks of June, and have had some trouble getting back in the swing of things since. Regrets!


	58. Chapter 58: Endangerment

58\. Endangerment

"Danny?" Bewilderment briefly checked Bonnie's rising fear. Of all the names she'd steeled herself to hear, Danny's was so unexpected as to make no sense. "It can't be… What happened? Has there been an accident?"

"It's not clear at this point." Adele spoke quickly, her tone grave. "They're saying drug overdose. His breathing's shallow, he's not responding to stimuli…" Her voice faded out suddenly, the words muffled, and then, distinct again, "Honey, I've got to go. We'll know more by the time you get here. You _are_ coming?"

Bonnie was already scrambling off the bed. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Good. I may be tied up with a patient when you get here, but Eddie's around. I'll tell him to watch for you."

"Eddie?" The sense of surreality hit again. " _Our_ Eddie?"

"He came in the ambulance with the EMTs. I don't know what the deal is there. He'll have to fill you in, himself." There was a short silence, then Adele added grimly, "Hurry, Bonnie. This could be serious."

She disconnected before Bonnie could ask about Val Dunbar, and whether Bear had been notified. It was not his weekend to have Danny, that much she knew. She was heartsick imagining him receiving the cruel call; he would be terrified, beside himself with worry. She tried to take comfort in Eddie's having been on the scene. Her cousin was unmatched in a crisis: coolheaded, decisive, skilled. Tragedies didn't occur on his watch. But how did he come to be involved, when he'd been avoiding Val assiduously for months?

This, and other questions, assailed her on the way to the hospital. Once through the ER doors, she saw at a glance that Adele's hopes of an uneventful shift had not been realized. The waiting room was packed with people, some sitting patiently in attitudes of pain and distress, others crowding round the reception desk. Bonnie stood irresolute a moment, but then, she felt a hand on her elbow, and turning, found Eddie at her side. She submitted to being engulfed in a hug, but pulled back almost immediately. Her cousin's face was unusually pale, his features drawn. "What have you heard? How is he?"

"There's been no change." His mouth was pressed in a thin line as he guided her back the way she'd come. "He's being admitted for tests and observation. They're moving him to Pediatrics now. This way," he said, indicating a corridor that led off to the right. "Elevator's down at the end."

He set off at such a pace, Bonnie had to step double-quick not to fall behind. "Have you seen Bear? Did someone reach him?"

Eddie nodded. "He was waiting when the ambulance pulled in. God, his face! Give him credit, though: he held it together, somehow."

"And Val? How's she doing? She must be a wreck."

He snorted, his lips curling bitterly. "She was _wrecked_ , all right." He strode the last few yards to the elevator, and mashed the call button viciously. "Also, plastered, wasted, pickled, bombed…"

Bonnie gaped at her cousin, horrified. "She was drunk?"

" _And_ disorderly. Last I saw her, she was in the back of a police cruiser being taken off to jail." A discreet ping announced the elevator's arrival. "Look," he said, as the doors slid open, and he ushered her inside, "it's a long story, and you'll get the full blow-by-blow, promise. Let's just get up to Pediatrics, and check in at the nursing station first, okay? Then, we'll find some place to sit and talk."

Adele had phoned ahead to smooth their way, but, even with the best will in the world, the nurse in charge could do little to help them. Asked what, if anything, she could tell them about Danny's condition, she replied, regretfully, "Unless you're immediate family, nothing." Eddie didn't argue with her, asking only that Baer be informed, as occasion allowed, that they were standing by, and anxious for news. "Tell him, too," Bonnie urged, "if there's anything he needs, anything at all…" The woman assured them she would pass the message on, and directed them to a nearby lounge where they might await further word.

The hospital had gone to some lengths to provide a cheery, welcoming space for visiting families. The sunny yellow walls were decorated with fanciful pictures of happy cartoon animals, and the room was bright with blonde wood tables and seating groups in warm primary colors. One corner featured a mostly-tidy collection of children's toys, books and art supplies; the remains of a good-sized block tower suggested the area had been in fairly recent use, but of the young builder and his companions there was no sign. The place was deserted.

They moved by tacit accord toward the nearest couch, a lime-green, armless affair that proved not nearly as comfortable as it looked. Bonnie perched on the edge of a cushion, and Eddie, sitting down next to her, released a long sigh, and, leaning forward, rested his arms on his knees. He stared at his feet a moment, and, then, looked over his shoulder at her, an expression on his face she was not used to seeing there: remorse. "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I know how much the little guy means to you. If anything happens to him…" He broke off, unable to finish.

Bonnie laid a gentle hand on her cousin's broad back. "It's not your fault, Eddie. I'm sure you did everything you could."

He shook his head, unconsoled. "No, this is on me. If I hadn't ditched Val the way I did, if I'd shown her some bit of the attention she wanted, maybe she wouldn't've gone off the deep end."

"Eddie, please," Bonnie said, suddenly out of patience with him. " _What happened tonight_?"

He stiffened at her tone, but then nodded as if to acknowledge himself in the wrong. He drew a breath, and having gathered himself, began, "I wasn't there for the first part. I'm only going on what I heard from Deena."

"Deena!" Bonnie burst out in surprise.

Eddie glared at her. "Are you going to interrupt every other word, or can I just get on with it?" When she'd apologized and promised to bite her tongue, he went on, "So, I got this call from Deena around eleven. She was spitting mad, and railing at me about Val being at the bar, and how she was drunk, and abusive, how, because of me, Val was attacking her, personally, and making her look bad in front of her customers. It seems Val's gotten it into her head that Deena's her nemesis, that she turned me against her somehow, and that she's been scheming ever since to keep us apart, none of which is true, of course. Deena dislikes her, that's a fact, but it's because Val's a nuisance, only coming into the bar in the hopes of running into me, or to fish for information. Anyway, Deena'd cut off her supply, and asked her, in no uncertain terms, to leave, but that only made Val more determined to stay, so they were at a standoff, with Val insisting she'd only go willingly if Deena called me, instead of a cab, to take her home, and Deena just as determined not to cave in to the pressure, or at least not to appear to. She didn't want to resort to force, she said, but if I didn't get my psycho ex-girlfriend out of her bar, and soon, she'd call the cops. She'd had just about all she could take.

"I was, actually… ah… in the middle of something when she called, but I wound it up quick, and hightailed it back into town, but, even so, it took me almost an hour, and, by then, things had gone to hell in a hand basket. There were police cars pulled up outside the bar, and, inside, there were signs of a fight: bar stools tipped over, broken glass and spilled drink on the floor, popcorn and peanuts scattered everywhere. Deena was off to one side, giving a statement, and Val was in handcuffs, struggling to break free from the officers trying to haul her toward the door. She lit up with relief and satisfaction when she saw me, and started shouting, 'Ask him! He'll tell you! He knows it's true!' She'd been arguing, with a drunk's pretzel logic, that they couldn't lock her up for the night because she was a single mother with a small child at home, and she had to get back to him.

"The officers weren't unsympathetic, but she'd racked up multiple misdemeanor charges, and they had no choice but to take her in. Besides, as they pointed out, she wasn't in any shape to take care of herself, let alone a kid. They assured her they'd send a squad car over to check on Danny, and, if the sitter couldn't stay, one of the patrolmen would wait at the apartment until the boy's father, or some other relative or neighbor of her choosing, could take over.

"But Val said no, that wouldn't work. They'd never get into the apartment without her. I assumed she meant the sitter had strict instructions not to open the door to anyone, and the cops must've, too, because one of them said they'd be sure to show their badges, and that always did the trick. But that wasn't it at all: no one would answer the door, turns out, _because she'd left Danny alone_."

Bonnie couldn't contain a gasp. "She didn't!"

"Oh, yes, she did, and, not only that, in her clueless mind, it was perfectly all right because she'd taken the precaution of dosing him with cough syrup, thereby insuring he'd sleep straight through the night, and never know she was gone. She'd done it before, so she knew it was safe.

"Well, you can imagine, everything moved into high gear after that. Val was taken off to be processed, but not before she was made to surrender her key to the other pair of officers. I've dealt with one of them before — Rick Lussier, good guy — and he agreed it'd be a good idea to have me along so, just in case Danny woke up, he'd see at least one familiar face and not be scared."

"But he didn't wake up," Bonnie prompted, when Eddie dropped his face into his hand, and covered his eyes.

He shook his head. "And we couldn't wake him when we tried. He wasn't just sleeping normally, we could all see that, and after what Val admitted, the police weren't taking any chances. Rick called in the EMTs, and while we waited, he went through the medicine cabinet, and found the cough syrup bottle — children's strength, but half empty. I knew there was an emergency numbers card in Danny's backpack, so I called Baer as soon as I knew what hospital they were taking him to, and then, I jumped in the back of the ambulance with Danny — I let them think I was family — and rode with him here. He was given oxygen, and hooked up to monitors, but there were no other measures taken, that I could see. Once we got here, and they rolled him into an exam room, I was shut out, of course. Except for the couple updates Adele smuggled out to me, I haven't heard a thing."

Despite her anxiety for Danny, Bonnie couldn't help but feel for her cousin in that moment. She could sense the anger in him, anger at Val, certainly, for her irresponsible behavior, but mainly, anger at himself for underestimating the danger she represented to Danny, and failing to protect him from it. She recognized he was not without blame in the matter, but she knew, too, that he was reserving the lion's share for himself, and reproaching himself unmercifully. She did not know what to say to comfort him, and so leaned her shoulder into his, and said only, "What a nightmare."

They were silent a while, each absorbed in their own somber reflections. Bonnie found herself thinking over Eddie's account, and being almost as puzzled as she was disturbed. She had known Val to be self-indulgent, and not as careful of Danny as she should have been, but to leave him home alone, to drug him so she could treat herself to a bender at Paradise Lost? She couldn't believe her as callous as that. There had to be more to the story… If Val'd wanted to paint the town red so badly, why hadn't she just asked Bear to take Danny? And why, after weeks of putting up with Deena's attitude, had she suddenly snapped this evening? Had she been at the bar for hours silently nursing her grievances until she could stand it no more, or had she turned up already soused, fueled with sufficient Dutch courage to have it out with Deena at long last? What was the sequence of events that had led to her blowing up so dramatically? She considered asking Eddie, but suspected he had no clue. "I wonder what'll happen to her," she said, more to herself than to Eddie.

"Val? Damned if I know. They could bring her up on a whole range of charges: disorderly conduct, misdemeanor assault, malicious destruction of property, resisting arrest. I think all Deena's going to want is compensation for the damages, and some guarantee that Val'll steer clear of the bar from now on, and, as for the rest, she'll probably get a hefty fine and maybe a few months' probation. But leaving a minor child unattended, especially at night… The District takes a very dim view of that sort of thing."

"Could she face jail time?"

"She could. If the court determines her actions placed Danny at serious risk, that's child endangerment — a criminal offense. She could be looking at months behind bars. One thing's for sure: she's going to lose custody, effective immediately. Child Protective Services will see to that."

He got brusquely to his feet, too restless to sit any longer. "I'm going to make a coffee run. Cream and two sugars, right? Anything else I can get you?"

She assured him there was nothing, and, once he'd gone, settled down to the unpleasant business of waiting anxiously. Eddie was a long time returning — he'd had to make some phone calls, he explained — and still there was no news. It was not, indeed, until nearly four in the morning, that Bear at last came to find them.

His face was haggard, his cheeks gray with stubble, half-circles like bruises under his eyes. One side of his collar, Bonnie noticed, was higher than the other, his shirt buttoned askew. She moved quickly toward him, only to hesitate, uncertain, but then, he held out his arms, and hugged her to him, briefly. "Thank you," he said, hoarsely, "for coming, for waiting." He put his hand out to Eddie. "Thank you, Booth, for everything you did for Danny. I owe you."

"Never mind that," Eddie said, gruffly. "How's he doing?"

Bear's eyes filled with tears, but he nodded. "He got about twice the recommended dose for a child his weight, but the doctor says it's not enough to cause any serious damage. Barring complications, he's going to be fine."


	59. Chapter 59: Waking

59\. Waking

The relief was so great, Bonnie's knees threatened to buckle. She reached out, and, clasping Bear's forearm, squeezed tight, whether in a show of support or to steady herself, she hardly knew. "Thank heaven!" she said. "Can we see him? Is that possible?"

"Ah…" Bear looked uncertainly from her to Eddie, and back again. Then, "Yeah… sure," he said, acquiescing. "This way."

In the large hospital bed, head half sunk in an oversized pillow and body heaped with a jumble of thin blankets, Danny looked pitifully small and delicate. His skin had barely more color than the white bedclothes, and his pixie face was barred across with the clear tubing of a nasal cannula. His arms rested limply on the covers, a sensor clamped on the tip of his right index. Bonnie lowered herself onto the chair by his bedside, and curled her fingers loosely around Danny's. They were reassuringly warm to the touch.

Eddie and Bear stood at the foot of the bed watching silently a few moments, and then, Bear motioned Eddie aside, and began speaking to him in a low tone, as if afraid to disturb Danny's sleep. Bonnie could not make out everything they said, but it was clear from the snippets she _did_ catch that Bear was trying to learn all Eddie could tell him about the evening's events. Eddie's account was essentially the same as the one he'd given her, but stripped of almost all personal context. She was surprised to hear him report that Val had "passed out cold" on the drive to the police station, and had been taken to a detox facility rather than directly to jail. Apparently, one of the calls Eddie'd made while they waited had been to the police station for news of her. Under the circumstances, he explained, Val had not been booked, which meant her arraignment would be correspondingly delayed, maybe as much as eight to ten hours. He assured Bear he planned to stay on top of the situation, and would keep him apprised of all developments. "Is there anything else I can do, or get, for you before I go?" he asked, when Bear had run out of questions.

Bear shook his head. "You've done enough already. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Eddie offered his hand in farewell, and turned to Bonnie. "How 'bout you, Tootsie Pop? Can I drop you back at Adele's?"

The query was her cousin's, but she addressed her answer to Bear. "I'd like to stay." She braced for the inevitable protest, but he held her gaze squarely, and did not object.

"Okay, then." Eddie brushed her shoulder on his way out. "Talk to you later."

He'd no sooner gone than Bear's lips twitched into a weary smile. "Tootsie Pop?"

She was glad of the hint of laughter in his eyes, though she pretended otherwise. "Family prerogative. Don't get any ideas."

She made to surrender the chair to him, but he stayed her, and rolled a heavy, padded recliner to the other side of the bed for himself. He sat, gently chafing Danny's hand, eyes tracing the features of his son's little face. At length, he said softly, "These last few hours, sitting here, watching him lie there still as a statue, all I've been able to think is ' _how could she?_ ' How could she be so selfish, so irresponsible? Her own child. All of six years old. Who she claims to love." He broke off, as if too appalled for words. "I just… I can't wrap my head around it."

Bonnie had worried the matter over, too, with just as little comprehension. "It seems, at least from the way she talked to the police, that she didn't think she'd done anything wrong. The only harm she thought Danny might've come to was waking up and being scared to find himself alone, and she'd taken steps to prevent that."

"As if his being unaware that his mother'd skipped out on him made everything all right! What rational adult thinks that way? Didn't it occur to her that she was leaving him defenseless? That someone could break into the apartment, or there could be a fire? Chances of things like that are small, okay, but not zero. And what if something'd happened to her while she was out, and she never made it home? Drunk as she was, she could've walked in front of a car, or blacked out on the street, or been mugged."

The last scenario was, perhaps, more likely than he knew. "That bar? Paradise Lost? Eddie warned me to stay away. He said it wasn't a safe neighborhood, especially for a woman on her own."

"And even knowing that, she went! In God's name, why? Did she take even a second to consider the consequences? Or think of Danny at all?" He wagged his head slowly several times, in disbelief, Bonnie thought, and maybe disgust. "Any illusions I may've had about her, I lost a long time ago. No one knows better how shallow, self-centered and devious she is, but I always thought if there was one person she cared about as much as herself, one person whose interests she could be relied on to put ahead of her own, it was Danny. But even he comes in a distant second."

There was no defending Val, Bonnie knew; she'd behaved abominably, in a manner unworthy not only of a mother but of a decent human being. Bonnie's own sense of the woman, though, was that Val was not so much a bad person as fatally weak and immature. "She didn't mean to give him an overdose, you know. There's no question she shouldn't have sedated him in the first place," she added hastily, as Bear shot her an accusing look, "but, that being said, she thought she'd given him the right amount. She told the police she'd done it before, and knew it was safe."

"That's small enough consolation," he grumbled, "but, yeah, the doctor said they see this kind of thing a lot. Even conscientious parents make mistakes doling out medicine. They misread the label, or don't measure correctly, or give doses too close together. Based on Danny's test results, the doctor's best guess is Val gave him the recommended dosage for six-to-twelve year olds, not taking into account that he's well under the average weight for a child his age. She might've used a regular tablespoon, too, instead of the measuring cup that came with the bottle. That would've increased the dose as well."

Honest mistake aside, there still remained the question of why Val had resorted to drugging Danny at all. "What I don't get is, if she absolutely had to go out, why didn't she just call you? Did she, maybe, try and not get through?"

"I thought of that, too, but there're no missed calls in my phone history. No," he went on, after a pause, "I think what you're going to find is she got some last minute invitation she couldn't resist, something she had to act on right away, or lose out on. Maybe she had a little time to call around for a sitter, maybe not. Either way, she had no one to cover for her, and a really tempting offer on the table. At that point, there shouldn't even have been a question — any normal person would've resigned themselves to a lost opportunity and stayed home. But Val's never been good at denying herself, so, instead, she convinced herself Danny would be all right for a few hours without her, and snuck out the moment he dropped off to sleep."

Bear's theory struck Bonnie as all too plausible, and, if he was right, she mused, then, the irony was that Val had probably missed out on her treat anyway, or been otherwise grossly disappointed, else why had she wound up on a bar stool at Paradise Lost drinking herself blind? A botched or unsatisfying rendezvous would go a long way to explaining her disgruntled, combative mood.

Bear was saying, in a low, determined voice, "He's not going to live with her again if I can help it, that's for damn sure. As long as there are charges pending against her, I'll have custody anyway, but, even once that's all resolved, now way she's getting him back. I'm going to take her to court, and get the custody order reversed. She'll have her work cut out for her, this time, convincing the judge Danny's better off with her."

It flashed on Bonnie then that, what with Danny's convalescence and the legal proceedings he meant to institute, Bear would, of necessity, be taking time off from work. Their timetable for finishing _La Coupe d'amour_ had allowed for his being away a week in August, but it was to have been _after_ the painting had been revarnished and set in its refurbished frame, not before. Bonnie suspected meeting Cummings' deadline was, at that moment, the furthest thing from Bear's mind, but he surprised her by saying, "I guess I'll move my vacation up a week. It won't be day trips to the beach like we talked about, but the important thing now is to get Danny settled."

Outside the hospital window, the night faded by imperceptible degrees from black to murky gray to half light. They passed the time discussing the blessedly neutral topic of what Bonnie might accomplish during Bear's absence from the Jeff, all the while keeping an eye on Danny for any indication of change. Just as the day dawned, they noticed a few fleeting expressions cross his face, and a short time later, he began to move restlessly, at one point turning completely over on one side, and curling up, knees to chest. When, in the course of his rounds, the doctor looked in, he was encouraged enough by this progress to recommend trying, once again, to wake Danny up. "Just do what you normally would when you need to rouse him," he instructed Bear. It took a number of gentle shakes and repeated exhortations, but Danny was eventually sufficiently conscious to bat at the insistent hand on his shoulder and mumble a cranky "No! Go 'way!" before burrowing more deeply under the covers. This was pronounced an excellent sign; the doctor decreed Danny could now sleep until he woke naturally, at which time he would be given a light breakfast, and, provided he managed to keep the food down, he would be released an hour or so afterward. It was entirely possible he could be on his way home as soon as early afternoon.

It was nearly ten before Danny opened his eyes and took in his unfamiliar surroundings, but Bonnie wasn't there to see it. The danger past, Bear had taken advantage of Adele's stopping in at the end of her shift to urge Bonnie to go home with her cousin and catch up on her rest. She might have resisted, but for his saying he'd try to grab a few winks, himself, while he could. He phoned, as promised, later in the day to report that Danny was safely tucked up on their living room couch watching his favorite videos. He was still drifting in and out of sleep, and inclined to be grouchy, but apart from that, he seemed to have suffered no lasting ill-effects. They'd had a bad scare — maybe the worst of Bear's life — but thankfully it had been only that, no more.

Bear could tell her nothing about Val, and, indeed, it wasn't until the next day that Eddie called with the news that Val had had her preliminary hearing, and been charged with misdemeanor child endangerment. Eddie had called in a favor, and obtained pro bono legal counsel for her, and had even posted her bail so she wouldn't have to spend the night behind bars. On her lawyer's advice, she had entered a plea of "not guilty," the plan being to bargain the prosecutor down to the lightest possible sentence. If no agreement could be reached, she'd have to take her chances with a judge. The court date was set for late September, and until the case was settled, she was to have no contact with Danny or Bear.

"You really went to bat for her," Bonnie couldn't help but remark to her cousin. "You realize she could be drawing the entirely wrong conclusion?"

"No, I sat her down, and spelled it out for her. I was clear that I've never felt more than kindly toward her, and that helping her out of the jam she's in is my way of making amends for not being as straight with her about that as she deserved."

A subdued Val had responded to Eddie's candor with an openness of her own, and, over the course of a long conversation, had confided a number of things to him, including, most notably, what had led to her eruption at Paradise Lost. Bear's supposition, it turned out, had been perfectly on point: Val had, indeed, received a phone call right around Danny's bedtime from a man she'd been involved with in the spring. Handsome and charismatic, Nick had, at times, been annoyingly full of himself, but he was such exciting company and so lavish in his spending, that Val had been willing to overlook this minor character flaw. Indeed, she'd nursed hopes that their hot-and-cold affair would evolve into a long-term relationship, and had been crushed when, after a fabulous weekend together in Atlantic City, he'd neither called nor texted again. She'd been thrilled to hear from him out of the blue, to be told he'd been traveling round the country on business, and had only just blown back into town. He'd missed her, he said, couldn't wait to see her, all of which was music to her love-starved ears. She'd had her misgivings when he insisted she come to him at the Ritz-Carlton or forget the whole thing, but she'd tamped them down, and gotten dressed as if for a big night out. At the hotel, Nick, opening the door to his suite wearing only sweats, a t-shirt and a roguish smile, had goggled at her finery, and not just in admiration. She saw the stark truth, then, of what she was to him: a booty call, pure and simple. In his defense, he'd not been such a thorough cad as to dispense with the preliminaries: he'd mixed her a good, stiff drink, and even a second when she requested it. The third she'd poured herself, and tossed with a few choice words into his face before walking out the door. "She was too angry and upset to go right home. She needed someone to vent to, someone who'd sympathize, and she thought of me. She didn't go to Paradise Lost meaning to get into it with Deena. She was hoping to find me there."

Bonnie was not above pitying Val's desperation and cruel disappointment but, even so, she didn't think her behavior any less deplorable, and doubted anyone familiar with the facts would take a more tolerant view. In this, however, she was proved wrong. Val did garner support, and from a most unexpected quarter: Rosalie Vincent.

Rosa had phoned Bonnie the Thursday after the incident, ostensibly to assure her that all supporting material having been received, her application for the Louvre Fellowship was now complete. It did not take much prompting, however, for Rosa to admit that was not the real reason for her call. "I anticipate that Rudolph will learn before too long that I've arranged for a highly-distinguished defense attorney of my acquaintance to take over Valeria's representation. He will accuse me, no doubt, of taking her side against him out of spite for his rejecting me, but that is not the case, _je t'assure_! I am not his enemy! It is only that Valeria has no friends at the moment, no one to speak for, or listen to, her. I have been in that unenviable position, _moi_. I must do what I can for her."

"But Rosa…!" Bonnie was flabbergasted almost to speechlessness. "She drugged your grandchild! She left him alone and unconscious for hours on end!"

"Yes, yes," she said, sadly. "But it is not for me, you see, to cast the first stone. She did not come nearly as close to killing her son as I did my Dolphin."

Bonnie's breath caught in her throat. "Bear almost died?"

"Through my fault, yes. Can you stand to hear the story? I would like for you to know it."


	60. Chapter 60: Daughter

60\. Daughter

(Rosa's Story, Part 1 of 2)

"I should warn you," Rosa said, "it's a rather lengthy tale."

"That's all right," Bonnie assured her. "I can afford to be a few minutes late for work this morning. My boss is on vacation."

"So he is! Let me ask you, then: do you know the Bible verse about the sins of the father being visited on the son?"

"To the third and fourth generations, yes. What of it?"

"I've thought of it a great deal since my talk with Valeria the other day. It was uncanny, really, what she told me about herself. Her family background, how she came to be a wife and mother so young — she might have been recounting my own past to me. I left Rudolph because I thought he stood a better chance of happiness without me in the picture, and yet, he wound up with a failed marriage and a son he may have to raise on his own, just as Karl did. It's as though history's repeating itself, our generation to theirs."

"Forgive me, Rosa," Bonnie interrupted, "but I don't understand how you happened to be talking to Val in the first place. I assume you initiated contact, but why? I can't imagine her arrest made the news in France."

"No, you are quite right, _chérie._ Did I perhaps mention I had lunch with Valeria when I was last in D. C.?"

"You didn't, no, but Val did."

"Ah! Then, you know about my little ruse, and, no doubt, the arrangement we concluded for the summer. She held her end of the bargain up very nicely, so much so, indeed, that I was phoning to announce the foundation's decision to extend its financial support through the school year, but it was obvious from the moment she picked up that something was very wrong. She was reluctant to confide in me, of course, but I managed at length to convince her I wanted only to help, and with that, you might say, the flood gates opened. She was almost pathetically grateful for my interest, poor girl. Evidently there are few sympathetic ears to be met with among her acquaintance."

Bonnie was reminded of her own lunch with Val, and her less-than-generous response to Val's bid to share more about herself. Bonnie might've been a friend to her, but instead Val had had to wait to find one in Rosa.

"We all vow to learn from our parents' mistakes," Rosa was saying, "and yet it's so often the case that, despite our best efforts not to follow in their footsteps, we find ourselves walking a very similar path. Growing up, I was resolved not to ruin my life by getting pregnant as a teen, as my mother did. She was my grandparents' 'surprise' baby, born when her brothers were already fifteen and seventeen. My uncles both joined the Army right out of high school, so, for all intents and purposes, she was raised an only child. My grandparents had taken great pains to bring their sons up to be right-minded, respectable men, but when it came to their daughter — perhaps because, being older, they were more relaxed, or because they wanted to enjoy their youngest — they were far less strict, indulging her as they never had their sons, and disciplining her lightly, if at all, when she misbehaved. My mother grew accustomed to having her way in all things, and, by the time my grandparents faced up to the fact that they were spoiling her rotten, the damage was done. She'd developed a taste for having the upper hand, and wasn't about to surrender it.

"Her bratty behavior didn't win her any friends at school. She was always in and out of trouble: fighting on the playground, sassing her teachers, blowing off assignments, and, later, in high school, getting mixed up with a 'bad crowd.' I'm sure it didn't come as a shock to anyone that she was careless about contraception, and got pregnant her senior year by a classmate who, in her estimation, was a perfectly adequate sex partner but not 'husband material.' Other girls in her situation might've had a quiet abortion, but being pregnant suited my mother very well. It spared her the embarrassment of having to admit she had no plans or prospects for life after graduation, and gave her, as well, a convenient excuse for all her future failures. 'If it wasn't for raising you,' she told me more than once, 'I could've accomplished great things.'

"It turns out she had this very odd notion that once she popped me out, she could hand me over to her parents, and resume coming and going as she pleased. My grandparents, though, had finally had enough, and laid down the law: she could either be a mother to me, or sign over her parental rights to them, and go. If she wanted to continue living under their roof and receiving their financial support, she had to contribute to our maintenance, and, except when out working, devote herself to my care. She was outraged at these 'unreasonable' demands, but they, for once, refused to bend, and, as she had no one else to take her in and no way to stand on her own two feet, she bowed with bad grace to their conditions.

"I'd like to say this last ditch effort at tough love had its desired effect, that, by holding down a job and shouldering a share of her responsibilities at home, my mother gradually gained confidence in herself, and became a responsible, independent adult, but that ending is for fairytales. My mother, instead, deeply resented having to slave at a menial job for minimum wage when, in her view, her parents could easily afford the trifling expenses occasioned by adding a grandchild to the household. She raged at being expected to pay her own phone and credit card bills out of what remained of her meager wages, and was apoplectic that her clothing allowance was cut off, and the money redirected to buying me adorable outfits and educational toys.

"Naturally, she resented me, too. I was the evil stepsister to her mistreated Cinderella. She was scarcely ever able to go out socially, tied down as she was by the drudgery of having to feed me, change my disgusting diapers, and deal with my constant crying. It didn't help matters that I showed a marked preference for my grandmother's more experienced handling, reaching out to her for comfort, and generally transforming from squalling demon to rosy-cheeked angel whenever she took charge of me. The rewards my mother had been led to expect would reconcile her to my onerous demands eluded her. She soured on motherhood very quickly, and forever.

"This uneasy state of affairs lasted through my infancy and early childhood. There were frequent ugly scenes and violent arguments, but, since my mother couldn't — or wouldn't — do without her parents' support, she always backed down in the end. She hated being under their thumb, but, if there was one thing she'd learned from her string of dead-end jobs, it was that having a meal ticket was infinitely preferable to earning her own living. She resolved early on to tolerate her parents only as long as it took her to find someone else to provide for her, and, though it took her a full five years, she finally found her man.

"Gary was the assistant manager at the fulfillment center where she worked, a thoroughly decent man she somehow finagled into marrying her. It was a whirlwind courtship, conducted entirely in secret, so that the first thing my grandparents knew about it, she already had a ring on her finger. They were completely blindsided, which was the point of the elopement, after all. My mother wanted to present her marriage as a fait accompli, a get-out-of-jail-free card she could flaunt in their faces. It was not enough for her, though, simply to break their hold on her; they had to be made to pay for the 'humiliations' they'd made her suffer, and so she stripped them of what they cherished most in the world: me. My grandparents had no legal recourse; she was my mother, they couldn't stop her from taking me, though it broke their hearts and mine. After we moved in with Gary, I wasn't allowed to see them, or talk to them without her express permission, which she rarely gave. They made repeated overtures of peace for my sake, but my mother rejected them out of hand. There was to be no forgiveness, ever.

"As for the marriage, it fell apart after only two years. They argued over money, of course: he complained that she spent too much, she countered that he earned too little. As their debt mounted to alarming proportions, my stepfather insisted she either learn to economize, or find part-time work to supplement his income, proposals that greatly offended my mother's sense of what she was due. She turned on him, blaming their predicament on his lack of enterprise and ambition. Where were the promotions, the rapid rise up the corporate ladder? If she was at fault, it was in having had more faith in him than he deserved. She recognized her error, and filed for divorce. There was not much left in the way of assets after the debt was settled, but Gary was magnanimous: he agreed to pay a modest sum in alimony until she remarried. That gesture came back to haunt him, though, as my mother'd had enough of marriage to last a lifetime. He was her first husband, and her last.

"There were other men over the years but, like Gary, they inevitably 'failed' her somehow, and she moved on in search of greener pastures. Between boyfriends, my mother's mood tended to be dark, and her temper uncertain. I tried, over those months, to be a model daughter, ever cheerful and supportive. I laid all my little triumphs at her feet — my straight-A report cards, my good-conduct awards, the prizes I won for my art projects — but she took no pleasure in my achievements, and never had a word of praise or congratulations for me. At home, although I did all the chores she set me, and more, I was frequently pronounced more trouble than I was worth, and told off as stupid, bumbling and impossible. I learned, painfully, to walk on eggshells around her, and to take care of myself as best I could. It was always a relief when she found her next someone, and not only because her spirits and our material lot improved. In the honeymoon phase of a new relationship, she made an effort to show herself in the most positive light, and that meant playing the part of attentive, loving mother to the hilt. It was pure theater, but, while the performance lasted, she treated me well, and I breathed more easily for a time.

"It wasn't until I was fourteen that I gave up all hope that Maud, as she preferred by then to be called, would be a real mother to me. Our last four years together, we dispensed with any pretense of being family, and lived like roommates, each of us going her own way with minimal involvement from the other. As I was of legal working age, if barely, my mother didn't scruple to propose I find a job, and pay her something toward my food and lodging, 'as was only fair.' I didn't protest; truthfully, I was just as glad to have somewhere else to be after school and on weekends. And then, I had the great good fortune to be hired on as general kitchen help at a nearby mom-and-pop restaurant, a wonderful place that, over time, came to feel more like home to me than the apartment I shared with Maud. I spent my first two years there happily behind the scenes doing food prep and clean-up, and then, when I turned sixteen, a waitressing job opened up, and I was offered the chance to train. I accepted, and never looked back.

"It was at the restaurant that I met Karl, the summer before my senior year. He worked at an industrial design firm in the area, and came in for lunch once or twice a week with three or four colleagues."

Bonnie pictured a somewhat younger, less brooding version of Bear in a suit and tie. "Was it love at first sight?"

Rosa laughed lightly. "Hardly, my dear. He was handsome enough, but didn't stand out at all among his rowdier, more outgoing friends. No, he was a long time wooing me, poor man. Nearly a year."


	61. Chapter 61: Wife

61\. Wife

(Rosa's Story, Part 2A of 2)

"I had other regular customers that summer," Rosa continued, "but Karl and his colleagues soon became my favorites. They were a bunch of dedicated flirts and jokesters, but there was no real harm in any of them, and they always made up for ribbing me mercilessly by tipping very well. It would be too much to say we became friends, but I took a liking to them, and they to me, so it was a sad day when I had to announce I wouldn't be waiting on them any longer, as I was switching to the evening shift with the start of the school year. They were loud in their regrets, and swore up and down to stop in for dinner every now and then to see me, but none of them ever did. Except for Karl.

"I thought it odd that, of all of them, he was the one to turn up. He'd been the quiet one, never joining in the teasing, or putting himself forward in any way. I wasn't even convinced, at first, that his coming in every Tuesday night had anything to do with me. He'd recently moved out of his mother's house, he told me, and was reduced to eating out until he learned his way around a kitchen. Occasionally, he brought along a date, but mostly he dined alone. As he always sat in my section, I felt rather responsible for him, and tried, as much as my other duties allowed, to keep him company, myself, when he was on his own.

"I discovered, in the process, that I'd gotten entirely the wrong impression about him over the summer. I'd mistaken his reserve for detachment, and assumed from his silence that he was one of those people with little or nothing to say. One-on-one, though, he was actually very personable, with a calm, open manner that made him easy to approach and talk to. He was, by nature, thoughtful and deliberate, a man of few words, but those few were invariably well-chosen and insightful. As the autumn weeks passed by, I found myself lingering more and more at his table, and enjoying his quiet conversation quite as much as I'd ever enjoyed bantering with his would-be-charming colleagues.

"In appearance, he looked, then, very much as Rudolph does today, if slightly less tall and dark. I could appreciate, intellectually, that he was an attractive man, but, even so, it never occurred to me to think of him in romantic terms. An eight-year age gap may be of no great consequence, generally speaking, but when one is seventeen, twenty-five may as well have one foot in the grave. And then, it wasn't only that I was so much younger; I had no interest in boys my own age, either. With Maud's example always fresh before my eyes, I knew that boys were a luxury I couldn't afford. Though I didn't need telling, Maud herself drove the point home, informing me during what passed for our 'mother-daughter talk' about sex that I wasn't to look to her for help or sympathy if I were stupid enough to get myself 'knocked up.' I was careful to avoid temptation: I kept to myself at school, rode the bus to the restaurant immediately after, did my homework in the kitchen, worked my shift and went home to bed. That was my life, Monday through Friday, week in, week out."

Bonnie thought of her own high school years, of the carefree crowd she's run with, the teams she'd played on, the committees she'd chaired, the club meetings, dances, and sporting events that had filled her social calendar. And, always at her side, Trev. "I'm sorry, Rosa. You must have been so lonely."

"I wasn't friendless, _chérie._ I even had a family of sorts at the restaurant. It was common knowledge that I was something of a stray, so everyone from the chef-owner and his wife on down to the servers, bartenders and kitchen staff adopted me, each after his or her own fashion. I was the restaurant's 'kid,' and my older co-workers took it upon themselves to watch over, guide and support me. They were my 'village.'

"There was one especially kindhearted woman, a veteran waitress named Natalie, who saw the motherless chick in me, and generously took me under her wing. If not for her tipping me off, I'd've been taken completely unawares when Karl asked me out, and, again, if she hadn't urged me to give him a chance, I'd've run in the opposite direction. 'I know how you feel about dating,' she said, 'but it's past time you tested those waters, girl. Your fella's a good one: sweet, respectful, persistent. Heck, you could be letting the love of your life walk away and never know it, all because you won't give him a shot. He's earned one, I'd say.'

"Karl started small. One night when it was pouring down buckets, I made a joke about needing a bigger umbrella, and he picked up on that to ask how I was getting home, and if I could use a ride. My first impulse was to thank him kindly and protest I was all set, but as the alternative was the dismal prospect of waiting for the bus in the drenching rain, I thought better of refusing. Alone with him in his car, though, I was a bundle of nerves! I don't know what I expected — that he'd pounce on me, maybe! — but he kept a very proper distance, and made small talk about the weather and this-and-that. There was nothing at all lover-like about him, which was at once confusing and a relief.

"The next Tuesday, he arrived somewhat later than usual, and just happened to be finishing his meal when my shift ended. Again, he volunteered to drive me home, insisting it was on his way, no trouble. It was late October by then, and already full dark and cold by nine; I was still uneasy, but accepted. The whole short ride I was tense with waiting for him to make some kind of move, but again, he didn't. The Tuesday-after was the same, and the one after that. I couldn't make any sense of it, but Natalie explained that, out of consideration for my youth and inexperience, Karl was taking things extra slow, letting me dictate the pace, even if it meant proceeding by baby steps. 'He's that rare thing in this day and age,' she told me. 'A true gentleman.'

"When, around Thanksgiving, he asked me if I'd be interested in taking in a movie matinee, I didn't hesitate to say yes, and neither then, nor any time thereafter, did I ever have cause to regret accepting his invitations. We did the type of things together that didn't need to count as 'dates.' We'd meet for coffee to continue a conversation we'd started at the restaurant, or do some fun activity Karl found out I'd never tried, like bowling, or ice skating. The weekend before Christmas, we spent hours scouring bookstores, outlet malls and even thrift shops for the perfect gifts for the people on Karl's list. They were, apparently, an extremely finicky lot, as it took us forever to find anything remotely 'right' for most of them.

"What I liked best, though, was visiting the local galleries and museums. We shared a love of art, and were both of us artistic, though Karl didn't see himself that way. He considered himself a competent draftsman, no more, and, as his drawings were meant only to illustrate his design concepts, he didn't think of them as art. They were beautiful, though, all those humble razors, steam irons, and hair dryers. He drew them with the most meticulous attention to every detail and line. After we were married, I had some of them framed, and hung around the house, over his objections. 'It's just a teakettle,' he'd say, but it was as pleasing to my eye as any of the pen-and-ink drawings we saw for sale, and on the wall it stayed."

"With grandparents like you," Bonnie put in, "it's no wonder Danny's so talented."

"Do you know, I thought of Karl the moment I saw Danny's dinosaur picture. He's clearly inherited something of his grandfather's skill, and I couldn't be happier for it. He'd be so proud of that little boy."

There was a beat of silence, and then Rosa resumed, "All the while I was getting to know Karl, I was going through hell with Maud. She'd been unable to attract another boyfriend, and so, much against the grain, she'd had to go on working to put a roof over our heads. Money was always tight, and there were months she couldn't come up with the full rent, or buy groceries. At those times, since, unlike her, I was steadily employed, she'd insist I make up the shortfall, even if it meant turning over my whole paycheck. Once I turned sixteen, and began working full time, she found it increasingly hard to stick with a job, and took longer, each time she quit — or was fired — to line up another. Halfway through my senior year, she'd been, supposedly, looking for work for several months and would, I didn't doubt, continue to have no luck finding any as long as I was around to foot the bills.

"The lease on our apartment ran through the following July, but I was determined to stay only through mid-June, by which time I'd be eighteen and a legal adult. Impatient as I was to be free of Maud, I was dreading striking out on my own no less. I had it in my mind that I had to put as much distance between us as possible, but I didn't have anywhere particular to go. My grandparents had died, and my career-military uncles lived abroad. I'd met the older one, Bill, at my grandmother's funeral, and it was true he'd invited me to visit him in Germany any time. And I did, in fact, have sufficient funds for a one-way plane ticket. When my grandfather passed, my grandmother had pulled me aside, and written me a check against a savings account they'd opened for my benefit. It wasn't a large sum — ten years' worth of Christmas and birthday presents — but it was money Maud knew nothing about and so couldn't steal, unlike the cash I tried to squirrel away from her in my room. I guarded that secret stash jealously, holding it in reserve for the day I finally packed my bags and left. As for my uncle, while I fantasized sometimes about showing up on his doorstep loaded down with all my worldly goods, I never seriously considered following through. We were strangers to each other.

"There were people at school I could've sought out for guidance — teachers, counselors — but I'd been conditioned not to ask for help, and couldn't even bring myself to accept it when offered. I knew I should explore different options, do research, make plans, but there was so much to decide, and trying to tackle the problem made me so incredibly anxious, I avoided thinking about the future, constructively at least, much of the time. Weeks, then months, slipped by, and I was no closer to having a firm direction in the new year than I had in the old.

"Stressed out as I was, my head wasn't into romance at all, and, although spending time with Karl had become the highlight of my week, I still didn't think of him as my boyfriend, or of us as a couple. Karl sensed my preoccupation, but, ever tactful, said nothing about it for a long time. Finally, though, on an early spring day when I was particularly broody, he asked me to tell him what was wrong. 'Putting thoughts into words can sometimes clarify things,' he said. 'Maybe if you bring whatever's bothering you out into the open, you'll be able to see it in a new light.'

"I didn't want to tell him. I was ashamed for him to see the hopelessly inadequate girl behind the competent mask. But I'd been bearing up so long, and the pressure had grown so great, I couldn't hold back any more. I told him everything: the misery that was my home life, the absolute imperative to escape along with the paralysis that gripped me whenever I thought about setting out on my own. He listened intently, as he always did, never showing signs of impatience or judgment, and when I'd talked myself out, he took my hand, and said he was sorry for what I was going through, that none of it was my fault, that I deserved so much better. As for feeling scared about the future, that was perfectly normal, everyone went through it, everyone needed help coming out the other side. I wasn't to worry anymore, he'd help me figure it out, I didn't have to do it all alone. And just like that, I felt as if the weight of the world had dropped off my shoulders, and I could breathe again.

"We started in on the problem right then, talking in a general way about what I wanted, ideally, in a living arrangement, and from there, we brainstormed ideas of housing options that might suit. I'd been fixated on the near-impossibility of finding an affordable apartment to share, but Karl threw out a few more creative solutions, such as working for a time as a live-in nanny, or applying to live as an elder-companion at one of the intergenerational retirement homes sprouting up in the area. In the short term, he thought it was worth asking at the restaurant if anyone had a spare room they'd be willing to let for a few months, or if they knew of anyone who did.

"'There's one more option I can think of,' he said, less confidently this time. 'You could… marry me.'

"I was so shocked, I blurted out without thinking, 'I couldn't possibly!'

"He flinched, but went on evenly, 'You don't feel you could ever feel more than friendship for me?'

"That wasn't what I'd meant at all. 'I couldn't take advantage of you like that!' I told him. 'That'd make me as bad as Maud!'

"He shook his head. 'You could never be like her. Do you think Maud would ever _once_ order the least expensive item on the menu, let alone every time? Would she ever object to anyone giving her presents, or paying her admission, or buying her the occasional souvenir? You know she wouldn't. I doubt she's ever reached for the check in her life.

"'Look,' he said, 'whatever you decide, I'll be here to support you any way I can — morally, financially, you name it. Marriage is on the table, that's all I'm saying. Think about it.'

"I did think about it, quite a bit, and the notion, at first so outlandish, grew irresistible over time. I don't know if you can understand, Bonnie, how disarming it is to be loved when you've never known much affection, how seductive it is to be taken care of when you've only ever been able to rely on yourself. Having lived my whole childhood with a monster of selfishness, how could I resist a man who couldn't do enough for me, and expected nothing in return?

"We'd been to Hagerstown to check out some sublets, and were driving back in a gentle April rain, when I told Karl I wasn't in love with him. 'I admire you,' I said, 'I respect you. I think you're maybe the finest person I've ever known. I care about you, and want what's best for you. I don't know if that's love, but it's what I can offer. Will it do?'

"He turned off onto the shoulder of the road, and put the car in park. 'Rosalie Finn, are you saying you'll marry me?'

"I was trembling so much, it was all I could do to nod 'yes.'

"I caught just a glimpse of the brightest smile I'd ever seen on his face before he gathered me to him in a fierce hug. 'Then, yes! It'll do very nicely," he said. 'Very nicely, indeed.'"


	62. Chapter 62: Daughter-in-law

62\. Daughter-in-law

(Rosa's story, Part 2B of 2)

"Two months later, at Karl's urging, I did Maud the courtesy of informing her in person that I'd gotten married that morning, and was moving out, then and there. Considering our history, you might think I took a certain bitter satisfaction in blind-siding her with the news, but all I felt in that moment was a tired grief and a great impatience to be gone. Barricaded in my room, I filled two new suitcases with my belongings while Karl held Maud off, stoically absorbing the storm of her insults and curses. When I was packed, we gave her in farewell an envelope containing the receipt for July's rent, and enough cash to tide her over for a month. She would've dearly loved to throw it in our faces, I'm sure, but she settled for screaming at our backs that I wasn't to come crawling back to her when our marriage failed, as it inevitably would. She was done with me.

"We'd managed to keep Maud completely in the dark about our engagement by telling absolutely no one. I didn't wear the diamond ring Karl bought me, not even on a chain around my neck, and, in public, we tried to behave no differently than we had before. Sometimes though, Karl could not quite contain his new happiness, and Natalie, picking up on the change in him, guessed the truth. She swore not to breathe a word to a soul, and I believed she'd kept her promise, until, that is, I saw my restaurant family gathered in the courthouse chapel for our civil ceremony. I thought I understood, then, why she'd advocated so strongly for a morning wedding, but no one, it turned out, had to rush back to the restaurant. It had been closed until evening, and a wedding breakfast, complete with champagne, cake, and gifts, awaited us. Despite its being thrown together in a matter of days, no bride ever had a better, more joyful reception, and when, the party over, we were showered with rice as we drove away, I didn't feel at all as if I'd eloped. I'd had my 'big day,' just as every girl dreams of.

"For Karl, though, the day had been less than perfect. He would've liked his mother to be there, but as it was reasonable to assume she'd want to meet my family if she knew of our engagement, he'd reluctantly kept it from her. Understandably, he didn't want our marriage to come as a shock to her, either, and so, we compromised: he told her he was getting serious about a girl he'd been dating for a while, and asked if he could bring me along the next time he visited. She said she'd be delighted.

"I'd had some experience of Estelle Baer, having waited on her the previous fall when Karl treated her to dinner at the restaurant. I remember being struck by her upright carriage and polished manners. She was handsome rather than beautiful, tall like her son, and, though well into her fifties, toned and trim. Her clothes, hair style, make-up — everything about her spoke of refinement and good taste. I envied her air of command and self-possession, and when later I learned she'd managed a large, busy office before taking a well-earned retirement earlier in the year, I wasn't the least surprised.

"Watching them together that evening had been at once heartwarming and bittersweet. The strong, loving bond between mother and son contrasted sharply with my relationship with Maud, and yet, as I was to discover, their closeness had resulted from similar circumstances. When Karl was eight, his father had died of an especially aggressive cancer, leaving Estelle to raise their only child alone. She'd responded to this tragedy by devoting herself single-mindedly to Karl's upbringing, working a demanding job to provide him not only with the basic necessities of life but also with certain small luxuries — vacation trips, private lessons, entertainments and the like. Karl had been mindful of his mother's sacrifices, and repaid her by being a son she could boast of, and, as an adult, someone she could lean on, in her turn, for companionship and concern. That summer, he'd moved away from home to live closer to work, but he still drove out to see her regularly, and, as was their tradition, had vacationed with her in the Bahamas between Christmas and New Year's.

"Most women, I know, would be content just to rub along well enough with their in-laws, but I was a girl who still longed for a mother, and I nursed the secret hope that I would, in time, have some share of the maternal love Estelle bestowed so lavishly on Karl. Our first meeting, however, was nothing short of a disaster. Karl had no sooner ushered me into her House-Beautiful living room than Estelle's gracious smile faltered. She recovered quickly, and made me welcome, but I couldn't help but be aware I'd failed to make a good first impression. Matters didn't improve over lunch when she learned I worked as a waitress, and not for the commendable purpose of socking away money for college. Asked what I planned to do after graduation if I didn't mean to further my education, I did myself no favors by talking vaguely about possible internships and evening classes. Karl came to my rescue, making it sound as if my flailing about for direction was a deliberate voyage of self-discovery, but Estelle regarded me dubiously all the same. Shortly afterward, she happened to recall she'd recently run into Karl's high school girlfriend, lovelier than ever, and did he know she'd finished up her MBA? At Wharton, no less. She'd sent him her best regards…

"I remember staring fixedly through the passenger-side window on the drive home, too mortified to speak. Karl begged me not to let his mother's blunt manner upset me; she had a tendency of coming on too strong, she didn't mean anything by it. But it wasn't simply that Estelle Baer hadn't taken a liking to me; it was how thoroughly she'd dismissed me as an acceptable girlfriend for her son. I'd seen myself reflected in her eyes: _immature, graceless, unaccomplished, weak_. And the worst of it was, I couldn't fault her judgment. I _agreed_ with her. I wasn't Karl's equal, I had little to offer him, I had no business marrying him. These, and similar sentiments, had been whispering through my head since the start of our engagement. It had only needed Estelle's disapproval to make them deafeningly loud.

"I choked out that I was sorry, I couldn't go through with the wedding, after all. I'd changed my mind.

"He didn't react at once. Then, very calmly, he repeated, 'You've changed your _mind._ And your heart? Has that changed, too?'

"I had to admit it hadn't.

"'Well, then,' he said, 'there's room for discussion.'

"He had me explain my reasons, and when I was done, he agreed I was being unfair — to myself. Everything I'd described as a character flaw he saw as merely a function of my youth. It was, he said, like blaming a caterpillar for not being a butterfly, or a bud for not being a flower. I was still growing, still evolving. As for my not being good enough for him, would he have accepted my offer if he'd thought that? Did I think him easily deceived, or incapable of looking out for his own best interest, because, he assured me, he was neither. He asked that I show the respect I claimed to have for him by honoring his choice, even if I thought it wrong-headed. 'It's not for you to judge whether or not you're worth loving,' he told me. 'That's my purview, and I've given my answer. The only question you should be asking yourself is whether _you_ can be happily married to _me_. Base your decision on that.'

"I let myself be comforted, particularly as, by then, he had more than words at his disposal to soothe me. Self-doubt continued to nag at me, but when it hit, I focused on Karl's reassurances, and managed to keep the negative thoughts at bay. It helped, as well, that, at Karl's prompting no doubt, Estelle was a kinder, gentler version of herself the next time we met. As our wedding day approached, she was no closer to embracing me with open arms, however, so we kept our plans secret.

"We had a brief, wonderful honeymoon on the Maryland shore. On our return, Karl thought it best for him to break the news of our elopement to his mother alone, and, coward that I was, I let him. He came back a long afternoon later, and, though he tried to hide it, I could see Estelle had put him through the ringer. She'd felt so 'betrayed' at being excluded, so 'hurt' at being deprived of her proud-mother-of-the-groom moment that, to mollify her, Karl had agreed to let her throw us a 'real' reception. As it was to be her 'gift' to us, she insisted on making all the arrangements and assuming all the expense, herself. The result was a stiff, formal affair more to her taste than ours, but as the party had always been more for her sake than ours, we went through the motions gladly enough. The guests, seeing Estelle in all her glory, could be forgiven for taking away the impression that she genuinely reveled in her son and new daughter-in-law. My more modest hope, and Karl's, was that she was truly reconciled to the marriage.

"It soon became clear, though, that all was not forgiven, and that I was to bear the brunt of her displeasure. The first few months, she barely condescended to speak to me, and was forever sneaking these odd, assessing looks at my waistline. It was only when she began to soften slightly toward me, and stopped being so obsessed with my figure that I realized what she'd been looking for. When I confronted him, Karl admitted she'd jumped to the conclusion that I was pregnant, and had added insult to injury by refusing to believe his denials. I didn't embarrass him further by asking if she suspected me of getting pregnant on purpose. Her chill politeness made her opinion of my character all too obvious.

"She had to acquit me of tricking Karl into fatherhood, but she remained no less skeptical of my motives. The fact that I gave up my waitressing job and couldn't give her a good reason why fed neatly into her suspicion that I'd married Karl solely for a cushy place to land. I couldn't bring myself to tell her I'd felt obliged to give notice because of Maud. My mother had been coming in to the restaurant once or twice a week to harangue me in full view of the diners, disturbing their peace and provoking my co-workers to come to my defense. It had grieved me to turn in my apron, but the restaurant stood to lose business on my account, and I couldn't have that. Later, Maud worked out where we were living, and started to hassle us on our doorstep, so, once the lease on the apartment was up, we rented a small house a long walk from any bus stop, effectively putting ourselves out of easy reach. That proved enough to discourage Maud, finally, and we didn't see her again.

"Estelle was, of course, curious to know who 'my people' were, and it was another strike against me that I wouldn't open my heart to her on the subject. Karl explained that talking about my family was painful for me, but she only bristled at my 'shutting her out,' and, most hurtfully, based on nothing more than my withholding the details of my estrangement from Maud, she decided that my mother was the one of us more sinned-against than sinning. 'Whatever you perceive as the offenses she's committed against you,' Estelle saw fit to lecture me, 'the woman gave birth to you, very likely in agony. You owe her for that. Respect. Gratitude. Remember: you wouldn't be here if not for her.'

"Looking back after all these years, I'm indignant on my younger self's behalf, but, at eighteen, I suffered her hostility in silence, largely out of consideration for Karl. I was intent on repaying his faith in me by being the very best wife possible, and that meant, at the very least, not causing a rift between him and the mother he loved. I hadn't entirely given up hope, either, of eventually winning my way into Estelle's good graces. I was prepared to be humble, and to work hard, but, just as with Maud, no matter how I tried, I never met with her approval.

"She found fault with everything I did, though she was subtle about it in front of Karl. When she came over for dinner, for example, she'd inspect the table setting before sitting down, always managing to find a fork, glass or plate that 'could be cleaner.' She'd pick at the food I'd cooked, claiming she wasn't very hungry, only to take a second or third helping of the salad or side-dish she'd brought to share. She'd wrinkle her nose, and ask if I purchased store-brand items, or marked-down produce, if I always checked expiration dates. If we ate at her house, she'd have doubled whatever recipe she was making, and pressed the leftovers on Karl as we left, so he'd have 'something tasty' to eat over the coming week.

"My housekeeping didn't measure up any better than my cooking. My kitchen was so poorly organized, she had to empty the cupboards and re-order everything, herself. She'd go through the refrigerator, and throw away anything that, in her estimation, was rotting, spoiled or unhealthy. She'd be overlong in the bathroom, and, when she came out, she'd have conveniently 'forgotten' to return the cleaning products or rubber gloves she'd used under the sink. Karl had given her a key to our house, for 'emergencies,' but she dropped in unannounced all the time, hoping, I think, to catch me lounging around in my pajamas and fuzzy slippers, my nose in a novel, and a box of chocolates on my lap. One day, I came home from running errands to find she'd not only replaced the living room rug with one more to her liking, but rearranged the furniture as well.

"And then there were her backhanded compliments and 'kindly-meant' critiques of my appearance. She pronounced me 'pretty enough' but not a patch on any number of women Karl might have married. The way I dressed left much to be desired, too; she bought me 'nicer' clothes that were invariably styled for someone much younger or older than me, leaving me the choice of looking like a middle-aged frump or an overgrown child. She even went so far as to suggest I change my hair color, since Karl had always shown a marked preference for blonds.

"If, after months of continuous digs and slights, I had any illusions I'd made a dent in Estelle's disapproval, that changed the day my passport arrived in the mail. 'What could you possibly need _that_ for?' she asked, suspicious and scornful at once. 'Planning to travel the world, are you?' I explained I needed a passport for the family trip to the Bahamas after Christmas. 'Oh,' she said, dumbfounded for a moment. 'I didn't realize you were coming.'

Bonnie could hold her tongue no longer. "What an awful woman!"

"Yes," Rosa said, somberly. "She could be a real piece of work. But happily, something happened while we were in Eleuthera that caused a sea change in our relationship."

"What did you do? Save her from drowning?"

"No, no. Something much less demanding. I simply got pregnant."


	63. Chapter 63: Mother

63\. Mother

"I don't mean to imply it was intentional," Rosa continued. "We were on vacation in a tropical paradise, and threw caution to the ocean breeze one time too many. When the pregnancy test turned out positive, we were stunned and not immediately sure how to feel about it. We both wanted children, but not for several years. We'd been talking about junior college for me, and a second honeymoon, possibly in Europe, for our first anniversary. A baby meant rethinking all our plans for the future, short-term and long.

"It wasn't so much the thought of lost opportunities that bothered us, though, as the awareness that we weren't ready to welcome a child. Or, at least, that _one_ of us wasn't. Karl had confided in me that he'd grown up lonely, and was looking forward to starting a family of his own; the first shock over, he'd've been thrilled with the news, if not for his concern about me. At eighteen, and raised the way I'd been, I was woefully unprepared for motherhood. My immaturity aside, I had no experience with infants to fall back on — not even as a babysitter — and I couldn't rely on a loving mother's example and advice to guide me. The prospect of being responsible for a tiny, helpless being made me horribly anxious. Karl understood all this, and, though I knew it cost him dearly, he left the decision to continue or terminate the pregnancy entirely to me. There would never be any reproaches, he assured me. I would have his full support either way.

"But, ready or not, what was there to decide? We'd created an innocent life together, and I couldn't destroy it because the timing was bad, or I was afraid. Karl couldn't hide his relief when I told him we were keeping the baby. I remember him asking, 'Are you sure? _Really_ sure?' and I was, completely. My only doubt was whether I could be the kind of mother our baby deserved.

"It was Karl's idea to say nothing about expecting until we'd seen our obstetrician for the first time, at about the ten-week mark. Unfortunately, when I was about eight weeks along, Estelle let herself in one morning, and found me lying limply on the couch, a half-empty sleeve of Saltines beside me. When I suddenly jumped up and, racing past her, proceeded to vomit noisily in the bathroom, she unerringly put two and two together. She flew into a rage, accusing me of being 'sneaky' and 'selfish,' of depriving her of her grandparental rights, of scheming to exclude her out of wickedness and spite. She was so focused on attacking me, she didn't hear Karl come up behind her. He'd just run out to the store to get me something I might hold down for breakfast — applesauce, I think it was. In any case, Karl was in a cold fury. He told Estelle it'd been _his_ choice not to tell her, that he'd done it to protect her from the grief she might suffer if, as she herself had done twice before he was born, I miscarried in the first trimester. She was struck dumb with dismay, and, when he demanded it, apologized to me with every appearance of sincerity. That was insufficient amends for Karl, though, and he informed her she was to leave, and not return until she could be caring and supportive. That was the only time I ever saw Estelle retreat with her tail between her legs.

"Several days later, she phoned to ask, almost meekly, if she could stop by, a courtesy I accepted as the olive branch it was. In those early weeks of helping me weather morning sickness and fatigue, she proved she'd taken Karl's rebuke to heart, and was making a real effort to turn over a new leaf. She still tended to want to bully me, but as she was badgering me to nap in the afternoon, eat smart, put my feet up, and take my vitamins, I didn't really mind. Ironically, it wasn't long before I came to wish she'd treat me with a little less solicitude; her fussing over me rather heightened my fear of something going wrong than relieved it. Given the chance, she'd've accompanied me to all my check-ups and screenings, but she refrained from pushing to be included, and settled for attending only a few. Fortunately, I was able to reassure her after every appointment that the doctor was satisfied with my progress, and that all signs pointed to a healthy, thriving baby.

"As I moved into my last trimester, the restraint Estelle had shown so admirably for months began to slip, and she lapsed increasingly into her overbearing ways. She expected to have a say in how the nursery was decorated, and was incensed when we didn't go with the color scheme she'd preferred. She picked out and purchased a car seat and a stroller after Karl specifically told her we wanted to shop for them ourselves. Although she had nothing more to go on other than I was 'carrying low,' she threw us a boy-themed baby shower, with the result that all the clothes and blankets we received were in some shade of blue. Worst of all, she took to referring to the baby as 'Rudy,' a name I, personally, loathed. 'Nonsense,' she said, when I told her we were talking about 'Finn' for a boy. 'You'll honor Karl's late father's memory, as is only fitting. Anything else is unacceptable.'

"Of course, she had her own ideas about where and how I should deliver, and, as my due date approached, it became all too clear she saw herself with us in the birthing room, acting as my doula or Karl's assistant coach. The thought of having this woman who was back to ignoring my feelings and overriding my wishes 'support' me through labor was unendurable, and I told Karl, a bit hysterically, that I didn't want Estelle anywhere near me when my time came. He promised that, on the day, everything would be just as I wanted it. My comfort and peace of mind would be priority one.

"We both knew there was a slim chance he'd be unable to keep his promise. A short while before and with some misgivings, Karl had accepted a promotion at work that came with a substantial raise in pay but, on the downside, required a certain amount of travel. He didn't foresee having to go out of town in the final weeks of my pregnancy, but, if the baby was at all premature, it was possible he might be away from home. There were no guarantees.

"I _did_ go into labor about ten days early, but, as it happened, the timing couldn't've been better. The pains started very early on a Saturday, so Karl was home from work, but, on top of that, Estelle had left the previous evening to attend a favorite aunt's funeral in Pennsylvania, and wasn't expected back until Sunday. We thought for sure that, even with a first-time mother's protracted labor, the baby would be born by the next morning, but thirty hours later, wrung out with pain, lack of sleep and desperation, I was still trying to push the baby out. At that point, our doctor strongly recommended an emergency C-section, but I clung a while longer to the dream of giving birth naturally. We'd prepared for labor so diligently, and for so many weeks, accepting the surgery felt like a huge failure, as if we'd studied extra hard for a crucial exam, and still hadn't been able to pass. Since my body was to blame, I felt the disappointment more keenly than Karl; for his part, he assured me, he didn't care how our baby was born, as long as we both came through the ordeal safely. The baby's heart rate started dropping soon after, and there was nothing for it, then, but to have the operation. Mid-afternoon on a late-September Sunday, our son — all eight pounds, plus, of him — was brought into the world, his poor little head cone-shaped from having been wedged in the birth canal. Without medical intervention, he very likely would've died, and me along with him.

"When the nurse placed Rudolph — Finn, to me — in Karl's arms, he was so tightly swaddled, all we could see of him was his teeny-tiny face. I waited for the overwhelming love I expected to feel to wash over me, but all I felt was strangely empty and numb. Karl's joy in Finn was, by contrast, immediate and exuberant; his face was alight with pride and wonder as he angled our son up in the crook of his arm for me to admire. Finn seemed equally taken with Karl, and listened to his cooing and praises with round-eyed rapture. We weren't allowed to keep him long; he was whisked away to the nursery, and I was wheeled to recovery. I didn't see him again until late that evening when he was brought to me to nurse.

"I was in considerable discomfort, but managed, somewhat awkwardly, to hold him to my breast. Finn, though, refused to latch on, and grew only more upset with each attempt to coax him into taking the nipple. Finally, the nurse took him away, saying it was a good first try, and not to be discouraged, but, as time went on, it didn't get any easier, and many sessions ended with Finn howling in frustration, and me fighting back tears. That beatific gazing into each other's eyes you see pictured in so many childrearing books was not for Finn and me. Nursing was a constant battle that left me feeling downcast and inadequate.

"Karl was my rock through it all, both at the hospital and when we brought Finn home. While his paternity leave lasted, he did all the cooking and cleaning, and, to the extent that he was able, looked after Finn so that I could rest and recuperate. Of all the many thoughtful things he did for me over the course of those early weeks, I was most grateful for his refusing to hear of Estelle's coming to stay with us in order to 'help out' with the baby. Despite her vigorous protests, he held firm about our needing time alone as a family, and so, though I still had trouble getting Finn to nurse, at least I didn't have the added stress of Estelle watching me struggle.

"By his first check-up, Finn had lost some of his birth weight, but, that being typical of newborns, it wasn't until his next weigh-in showed he was down more than a pound that his pediatrician became concerned. She advised supplementing my breast milk with formula —just while Finn and I worked through our nursing problems — but once Finn had his first bottle, he resisted my efforts to breastfeed more than ever. I didn't give up right away, but it was plain from the way Finn sucked down his formula and spurned my breast that he had a decided preference. He was about two months old when I stopped trying altogether.

"That was a second defeat, as I saw it, in my efforts to be a good mom. Karl commiserated with my disappointment — again — but didn't see any reason for me to get down on myself. What did it matter how Finn was fed, he argued, as long as he was well-nourished? I might've been comforted if I'd been connecting with Finn in other ways, but, weeks into caring for him, I still wasn't feeling in synch with him. Karl had learned to distinguish among his various cries, but I couldn't tell if he was hungry, wet or tired, and would feed, change, or rock him until, finally, something worked. All too often, nothing I did soothed him, and he'd wail for what seemed like hours, his little face scrunched up tight and beet-red with misery. One particularly bad night, frazzled from lack of sleep and on my last nerve, I had the sudden impulse to fling him violently away from me, across the room and into the wall. I didn't, of course, but just having the urge filled me with incredible guilt, and gave rise to fears that I might harm my son.

"Once Karl returned to work, Estelle wouldn't be kept from her grandson any longer, and resumed dropping in unannounced several times a week. This was a mixed blessing, as, on the one hand, her looking after Finn afforded me the breaks I desperately needed, while, on the other, her ease in handling him aggravated my feelings of inadequacy. She would often happen upon me pacing the floor with a screaming Finn in my arms, and, taking him from me, would calmly dispatch me to shower or lie down. A short while later, a blessed silence would descend on the house. Like Karl, she had the quasi-magical ability to make Finn gurgle with pleasure, or wriggle in delight, a talent I notably lacked. All in all, I felt like Finn's least favorite person, a distant third-place finisher behind Karl and Estelle. Stories of my own infancy came back to haunt me, and I found myself unexpectedly empathizing with Maud. Had she, I wondered, experienced my open preference for my grandmother as a kind of rejection? That's certainly how I felt with Finn.

"I tried to have reasonable expectations for myself, to remember I was still learning the ropes but, as weeks turned into months, I didn't feel I was coping any more successfully, and the old self-doubts about being good-enough returned with a vengeance. It didn't help that all the other young mothers I'd see at the market or the playground seemed to have everything perfectly under control. To my eyes, they looked, to a woman, neat as pins, relaxed and brimming with confidence. Their blissful smiles and high spirits were a constant reproach to me. How did they manage so well when I was barely holding it together? Was I deficient in some fundamental way? With each passing day, I grew more afraid I was no more cut out to be a mother than Maud, and that Finn would suffer as a result.

"Painful as these feelings were to bear, I was too ashamed to confide them in such kindly strangers as my doctor, or the women, usually middle-aged or older, who'd approach me in the park or grocery store, and ask me gently if I was all right. I always forced a smile for them, and answered that yes, I was just fine, thanks. I kept up my best cheery facade at home, too; not because I feared Karl would think less of me, but because he already had enough on his plate, what with the added responsibilities of his promotion, and dealing with an important new client who was making impossible demands. He was having to put in extra hours, and travel frequently as well, so he was no less exhausted, mentally and physically, than I was. I didn't want to add worry for me to his other burdens.

"I was careful, too, not to cry in front of Finn, and would never, willingly, have let Estelle see me unhappy, but, since she stopped by whenever it suited her and with no more advance warning than the sound of her key in the lock, she sometimes came upon me before I could wipe away all evidence of my tears. She'd been prepared to tolerate a period of 'baby blues,' but, with Finn about to celebrate his first birthday, her patience with my 'moping' was at an end. 'What's _wrong_ with you?' she snapped, on a day when I wasn't quick enough to hide my tears. 'What could you _possibly_ have to cry about? You have a beautiful baby, a devoted husband who gives you everything, and all the domestic help — unpaid for, I might add — you could ask for. What more could you want?'

"In that moment, what I wanted most was to curl up and die. How could I explain what I didn't understand, myself? I knew only too well that I _should_ be happy, that any other girl would've thanked her lucky stars to be standing in my shoes. There was nothing I could point to outside myself to account for my misery, so it could only mean the fault was in me. I had to be broken inside, or deeply flawed in some way. That being the case, it was futile to think I could shake off my funk, and feel joyful again. The future stretched before me, endlessly bleak.

"Days later, with these dark thoughts swirling through my head, I was driving down our country lane when I had a powerful urge to floor the accelerator and smash our car, and myself with it, against a massive oak that grew just off the road…"

"Rosa," Bonnie ventured, when her friend paused to compose herself, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but… Did you ever think you might have postpartum depression?"

The ghost of a smile lit Rosa's face. "Clever girl! How did you know? It was years before I figured it out."

"My aunt Annalise suffered through it with both of her boys. She said it was pure hell."

"I couldn't agree more."

"You didn't actually try to… kill yourself?"

"Well, now, that's a subject for debate. You see, one day — it was in January — Finn was seriously overtired, but still fighting me about taking a nap, so, at the end of my tether, I bundled him up, strapped him into his car seat, and took him for a drive. Within five minutes, he was out like a light, and, a quarter hour later, not liking the condition of the roads, I drove home and pulled into our small, attached garage. Finn was sleeping so soundly, and I was so grateful for the unaccustomed peace and quiet, I crossed my arms over the steering wheel, and leaned wearily into them, thinking just to rest my eyes for a few minutes. I'd closed the garage door against the cold, and, in my utter exhaustion, didn't think to shut off the engine.

"I must have nodded off, because the next thing I knew the garage door was rumbling up, and Estelle, her mouth and nose wrapped in a scarf, was frantically snatching Finn out of his car seat, and rushing him into the open air. Seeing her panic, I stumbled out after them, alarmed and unclear what the danger might be. When I came up to her, Estelle turned a look of such pure hatred on me, I froze in my tracks, staggered. 'You crazy bitch,' she hissed at me, her whole body shaking with fury. 'You want to take your life, have at it! You'd be no loss to anyone. But you leave my grandson out of it, damn you. He doesn't deserve to die.'

"I couldn't've been more stunned if she'd slapped me. I stammered out that it wasn't what it looked like, that I hadn't meant to harm myself, that I'd never intentionally hurt Finn. I was so obviously distraught, she seemed almost to reconsider, but, in the end, whether I'd endangered Finn's life by accident or on purpose was all one to her; either way, he'd've been no less dead of carbon monoxide poisoning if she hadn't intervened."

"But, Rosa," Bonnie interrupted again, "all you did was make a _mistake_. A terrible mistake that might've ended in tragedy, it's true, but a very human slip-up, just the same. Fortunately, you were spared the worst possible consequences. Not everyone is so lucky."

"That was how Karl saw it, too, when he'd heard both Estelle's version of events and mine. He thanked Estelle for her quick thinking and action, but wouldn't agree with her that I'd proven myself unfit to have unsupervised charge of our son. He acknowledged that I'd foolishly overextended myself, and would have to guard against that going forward, but added that he still had complete faith in me, and knew he could trust me with Finn's care."

"Well, _there_! What did I tell you?"

"Yes, but his actions didn't back up his words, you see. Whereas, _before_ the incident, he might've phoned me from the office once or twice a week and always with good reason, _after_ it, he began calling two or three times a day, sometimes with only the lamest excuse. When he had to go out of town, he asked me to let Estelle come stay 'for the company,' and that, too, was new. Despite his best efforts to hide it, he _was_ worried for Finn, and that made me worry, too.

"I was sure I hadn't been thinking about suicide that day in the garage, but I couldn't deny that, at times, I still had the urge to drive full tilt into that oak, or to load down my pockets with stones and walk out into the middle of the small pond nearby. What if, on a day I couldn't resist the impulse, I had Finn with me? I told myself I could never hurt Finn, but it'd been all I could do that time not to throw him across the room, and I'd come close to shaking him violently and slamming him down in his chair or bed on several occasions. What if I lost control some day, and did him serious injury? Could I really trust myself to have his best interests always at heart when I sometimes found myself wishing I'd never gotten pregnant, or that he and I had died on the operating table? To my mind, there had to be, in Estelle's words, something seriously 'wrong' with me, a something missing in me, as there had been in Maud. I couldn't take the chance of damaging Finn as I'd been damaged. I knew I had to leave him, for his own good.

"I chose a morning when Karl was away on business. I left him a note saying that I loved him and Finn too much to risk ruining their lives, that they'd be better off without me, that they should think of me as dead. It was just after dawn; there was a taxi on the way. I stood in the nursery one last time, and watched my beautiful boy sleep. I felt my all-too-shaky resolve begin to weaken, and was picking up my bag and fighting the temptation to creep back to my room, when I saw Estelle standing in the doorway.

"She nodded approvingly. 'You're doing the right thing,' she said. 'I didn't think you had it in you to put someone else's happiness ahead of your own, but I see now I misjudged you. I'm sorry.' She studied me a long moment, then asked, almost reluctantly, 'Do you know where you'll go?'

I told her I had a flight booked to Germany, an uncle in Stuttgart. She asked if I needed money; I said, no, I had a small inheritance from my grandparents. There came a honk from outside the house. She made way for me, and I walked quickly past her, hoping she didn't see my tears. She called, 'Good luck to you!' after me, but I didn't answer. I couldn't." She shook her head, as unable to speak in reliving the moment, Bonnie guessed, as she had been at the time.

"And, did you?" she couldn't stop herself from asking. "Go to Germany, I mean?"

Rosa discreetly brushed away a tear, and mustered her best roguish smile. "Ah, my dear, as to the rest of the story, I fear you will have to wait for my memoirs! I have already imposed on your good nature far too long as it is, and have made you unpardonably late into the bargain. And, to think, all this dredging up of the distant past was simply in aid of explaining why I feel I must do what I can for Valeria! Do you see, now?"

"I think so. You want to be the kind of mother-in-law to Val you wish you could've had."

Rosa's face brightened noticeably. "You really are the most perceptive girl! Tell me, honestly, though, _chérie_ : do you think it arrogant of me to imagine I can do better than Estelle?"

"I think you've already got her beaten, hands down, Rosa. Val's lucky to have you for a mother-in-law, however belatedly. Any girl would be."


	64. Chapter 64: Preview

64\. Preview

Rosa's story remained very much on Bonnie's mind as she continued with her day. She had so many questions she'd've liked to ask, many of which, she had to concede, Rosa could probably not have answered in any case. What, for example, had Estelle told Karl about the morning of Rosa's departure? She doubted Estelle would have admitted she'd had the chance to stop Rosa, and had, instead, encouraged her to go. Had she, then, claimed to have woken up and found her daughter-in-law already gone? Had she pretended that Rosa had only been missing since the morning of Karl's return, and that she, herself, was at her wits' end with worry?

As for Karl's anguish on learning that his wife had run away, Bonnie could hardly bear to think of it. He knew better than anyone how fragile she was emotionally, how inexperienced, how naive. What torments he must have suffered imagining her trying to fend for herself, alone and likely frightened! He would have searched high and low for her; Bonnie was sure of that. Had he called all her friends at the restaurant, hoping she'd taken refuge with one of them? Had he known about her uncles, and had he managed to track them down in Germany? Had he ever found any trace of her, or had he lived until the day he received her letter in a limbo of uncertainty, not knowing if she was alive or dead? The heartache must have been appalling.

Bear had told her he'd once seen his father, the 'widower,' in a romantic light, interpreting his unwillingness to speak of his mother, and his pronounced indifference to other women as signs of a monumental grief, and a devotion to his wife that outlasted even death. Bonnie was practically certain that Bear had not been mistaken, that Karl had never stopped loving Rosa, or mourning her loss. She could picture him so clearly: a quiet man by nature withdrawing ever more into himself, living only for his son, and, perhaps, clinging to the slim hope that Rosa would, some day, return of her own accord. And what of Estelle, who, to take the generous view, had sought to rescue Karl from what she had always considered a disastrous marriage? As the years passed and her darling boy continued heartsick and joyless, had she regretted her part in driving Rosa away? Realizing she'd blighted Karl's life, instead of improved it, had she been eaten up inside with guilt and remorse? Bonnie fervently hoped so.

What saddened her most, however, was that all of Karl and Rosa's suffering had been so _unnecessary._ It would only have taken Rosa's unburdening herself to one compassionate soul — her doctor, or any of the sympathetic women who'd approached her — for her to learn she was _not_ a freak, that all women, even the outwardly 'perfect' mothers, struggled with fears of inadequacy to some degree. The moral support she'd needed so desperately had been there for the asking, but Rosa, having been raised to equate seeking help with being contemptible, hadn't been able to avail herself of it. She couldn't be blamed, of course, for hiding away what she felt to be her 'shame,' but that didn't make her doing so any less regrettable.

Bonnie was to learn the very next day, however, that being consistently open and honest was not always a simple matter. When, just before quitting time, Bear and Danny surprised the workroom with a visit, she found her heart was full of things she would've liked to say, but had to bite back. Her impulse on seeing Danny in person for the first time since his hospitalization was to exclaim over how much better he looked, but, not wanting to remind him of his convalescence, she said only that she was so very glad he'd come by. In response, he proudly presented her with his two latest T-Rex-series drawings — one, picturing the boy, girl and dinosaur eating cookies out of a dented tin, and the other, the trio splashing about in a swimming pool. All while admiring the pictures as they deserved, she couldn't help but wish she could tell him about the grandfather from whom he'd likely inherited his skill, or the grandmother who'd delight in them even more, possibly, than Bonnie did. It wasn't her place, though, to teach Danny about his family, so she limited herself to praising the drawings on their merits, and offering a few small pointers on how they might be improved.

With Bear, it was harder still to guard her tongue. She wanted to share Rosa's story with him — she felt sure he could not be unaffected by it — but, again, she and Bear were not on such terms that she could meddle in his business without fear of giving offense. Much as she yearned to try, it was not for her to broker a reconciliation between mother and son. They would have to find their way to understanding and forgiveness - or not - in their own good time and fashion.

She found it was awkward, too, knowing aspects of his early life he wasn't aware she knew, and, perhaps, didn't know himself. Those long nights when he'd walked the floor with Danny, had he known enough about his own infancy to appreciate the poetic justice of his situation? Had he ever been told the tale of the day he nearly died, and, if so, whose version? As Bear stood some way off chatting with Gabby, Bonnie's eyes kept straying in his direction, her vision colored by what she'd learned of "Finn."

Later, they were sitting across from each other at a pizzeria, a last slice left on the pan between them, when, looking up from tending to Danny, Bear caught her staring. "What?" he said, brows lowering even as a smile tugged at this lips. "Do I have something in my teeth? Did I miss a spot shaving?"

Bonnie, at a sudden loss for words, felt a flush warm her cheeks. She could hardly admit she'd been thinking just at that moment how much she'd missed him over the previous week. There'd come a time, she knew, when she'd be able to speak plainly and from the heart, but, unless she resigned her Jeff fellowship — an out she did not, at all, see herself taking — that day was still four long months down the road. She promised herself she'd be bold when her chance came, that, as soon as she could do so without impropriety, she'd tell Bear what she really felt for him, whether he wanted to hear it or not. In the interim, though, she was obliged to observe the appearance, at least, of professional distance. She scrambled for something plausible to say, but could only come up with, "I was… ah… thinking it's too bad your vacation's over. For _you_ ," she amended hastily. "Not for _me_. Obviously, you can't come back to work too soon for my liking. Not that I… I mean… _La Coupe d'amour_ …"

"Needs finishing, pronto," he supplied, his bland tone at odds with the twinkle in his eyes.

Bonnie was too grateful for his help to mind being laughed at. "Exactly!" she said, more easily. "The deadline's coming up on us fast."

At that, the small smile Bear'd been holding back slipped free. "No, that's not it. You're impatient on your own account, admit it!"

Heart thudding unpleasantly, she tried her best to hold his gaze. "I... don't know what you mean."

"After all the months of work, you're anxious to see, for yourself, how the painting looks restored to its former glory. You're chomping at the bit."

Bonnie covered her relief with a rueful smile. "Guilty as charged, but that doesn't rule out my being genuinely sorry you have to rush back after only a week off. I know you were hoping to take two weeks together."

"Actually," he said, not quite offhandedly, "I don't mind cutting my vacation short this year. Just now, I find I'd rather be at the Jeff."

The words were accompanied by such a candid look, Bonnie was left, for a moment, too short of breath to utter more than a nearly voiceless, "Oh!" And then, equally inane to her own ears, "I.. I'm glad."

No last-minute difficulties or unforeseen problems arose over the next few days to delay the completion of their work on _La Coupe d'amour_ , and by the middle of the following week, the painting, its surface glossy with a fresh layer of varnish, needed only to be set back into its reinforced and freshly-gilded frame to be ready for its gala debut. Bonnie, feasting her eyes on the refurbished masterpiece, felt a swell of joy and satisfaction at what, between them, she and Bear had accomplished. It was impossible to know how closely they'd approximated the original look of the painting, but that, in any case, had never been the goal. They'd been charged, not with erasing any and all signs of age and wear, but with making the beauty of Lebrun's timeless image accessible again with the least possible intervention, and this, she thought, relishing the wealth of detail, brighter tones, and greater definition they'd uncovered, they'd managed with indisputable success. She honestly did not think they could have done better, and Bear, while he wouldn't go so far as to pat himself on the back, seemed pleased.

When they submitted their work for Dr. Cummings' evaluation, their boss had not a single criticism or concern to air. "You've outdone yourself, Baer," he said appreciatively, his eyes roving over the transfigured painting with evident approval. At Bear's rather pointedly clearing his throat, he added quickly, "And you, too, of course, Bonnie! Forgive me! It's just such a lot to process. The improvement's…" He shook his head wonderingly. "…staggering. Wait till old doubting Henri sees this!" He chuckled happily, likely in anticipation of triumphing over his French friend, and turned to beam at each of them in turn. "This calls for a celebration! We'll have the whole department in, and raise a glass to your achievement in bringing this extraordinary work back to glorious life. Champagne all around, on me!"

So it was that, late on the Friday afternoon before the gala, the Jeff conservators were treated to an exclusive preview of _La Coupe d'amour_ in all its renovated splendor. Bonnie, feeling absurdly proprietorial, stood a short distance back from the painting at first, observing her colleagues' reactions, and delighting in their admiring nods, enthusiastic comments, and animated gestures. They were not stingy, either, with their kudos when later, flutes of _Veuve Clicquot_ in hand, they congratulated her warmly on her part in having brought such a high-profile project to an impeccable conclusion. "It's a red-letter day for all of us," one of the long-tenured members of the staff told her, toasting Bonnie with his glass. "You've done the department proud." On the other side of the workroom, Bear was, similarly, surrounded by people eager to shake his hand, and share their appreciation for a job well-done. It wasn't, indeed, until the bottles ran dry, and the arrival of the Event Staff to collect the painting signaled the end of the party that Bear was finally free to cross to where Bonnie stood talking with Gabby.

"A few of us are moving the festivities down to The Corner," Gabby said, when he'd come up to them. "You two care to join us? One more drink?"

Bonnie, however, had a last appointment with her dressmaker that evening, and Bear, an invitation to dine with the Jolicoeurs. "I've been meaning to ask you…" Bonnie said, when Gabby, having admonished them to have fun at the gala, had gone her way. "How'd the childcare arrangement go this week? Is it going to pan out, do you think?"

He nodded. "Looks like a win for everyone. Caro says Luc and Danny keep each other so well-entertained, it's actually less trouble to have the two of them together than Luc on his own. She's even making noises about not wanting to be paid, but that's a non-starter. Knowing Danny's in a safe place, where he's happy and being looked after by a person who treats him like a second son, that's worth everything to me."

"And, anyway, it'll only be for a few hours in the afternoon once school starts, right?"

"Yeah, and there's the bonus that Caro's available to pick the boys up every day, so that's a huge weight off my mind. Did I mention the two of them have been begging all week to have a sleep-over? We're going to give it a try tomorrow night."

"Really?" Bonnie nearly clapped her hands for gladness. "That's so perfect! Danny's been wanting to spend the night at a friend's house for ages. And _you_! Well!" She grinned up at him impishly. "Now you're going to be able to really cut loose at the after-party, and boogie the night away!"

Bear snorted a laugh. "Sure. That's just my speed." They shared a moment's dry amusement, and then, Bear, sobering, said, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, too. About… Rosa. You haven't, by any chance, spoken to her recently?"

Feeling, suddenly, all the awkwardness of her situation, Bonnie regarded him uneasily. "We talked last week. She called to assure me they'd received all my application materials."

"And that's all?" he pressed. "She didn't mention anything about retaining a lawyer to represent Val?"

"That _did_ come up," she said cautiously. "She was anxious, naturally I think, that you'd misconstrue her actions as taking Val's side against you…"

"To get back at me." He nodded grimly. "She was right about that. I thought she'd brought in her hired gun to get Val off with no more than a slap on the wrist. But that's not what's happened."

"Has the case has been settled, then?" Bonnie asked, surprised. "When? What've you heard?"

"I got the news a few hours ago: they've reached a deal."

"And…?"

"She'll plead guilty to misdemeanor child endangerment. That usually carries a sentence of six months' jail time and three years' probation, plus a five hundred dollar fine, but, since this is her first offense, and her attorney was able to argue that she'd shown bad judgment rather than a conscious disregard for Danny's safety, the prosecutor's agreed to recommend a reduced fine, mandatory parenting classes and personal counseling in lieu of three months' jail time, and a year's probation."

Bonnie stifled a sigh of relief. It was only right that Val suffer the consequences of her actions, but she couldn't be sorry the penalty wasn't harsh. "And what about custody? She's not getting Danny back?"

"No, I'm going to keep full custody, at least during the probationary period. If she satisfies all the conditions of the agreement, and stays out of trouble for a year, she can petition the court to regain custody, but between now and then, I only have to allow her two supervised visits a week. Anything more is at my discretion."

Bear's flat, factual tone was at such odds with the gist of his report that Bonnie was confused. "That's good, right? It's what you wanted."

"Wanted," he acknowledged gravely, "but didn't expect. Like I said, I assumed whatever deal Rosa had her lawyer push for would be skewed to Val's advantage."

"And you're unhappy that it's fair to all concerned instead? What am I missing?"

He shot her an odd look, part annoyance, part uneasiness. "I owe her. Rosa, I mean. I'm not comfortable with that."

"Oh!" All at once, the puzzle pieces fell into place: Rosa had failed to live "down" to his expectations of her, forcing him to reconsider his attitude, and raising the troubling possibility he'd misjudged her, not only in present instance but all along. "If it helps at all, I don't think she particularly wants or expects you to be grateful."

"No?" He turned to look at her intently. "Why she'd do it, then?"

Bonnie shook her head. "I can't speak for her." And then, because he'd given her the opening, and because she might never have a second, she took the gamble of saying, "Maybe it's time you gave her the chance to tell you her story, to explain her side of things."

Bear seemed to take her words under advisement. "Maybe," he conceded, at length. "I'll think about it."

A/N: Sorry to be slow as molasses! Next chapter: the Jeff Gala and Trev returns!


	65. Chapter 65: Gala, I

65\. Gala, Part I

Bonnie patted her elaborate up-do nervously. She felt sure the braids and twists the stylist had worked so painstakingly into her hair were already slipping free of their pins. "Well," she said, offering herself for inspection. "What's the verdict?"

Her grandfather's eyes glistened with tears as he smiled his approval. "Beautiful," he said, somewhat huskily.

Eddie was not so quick to commit himself. He took her in from rosebud headband to strappy sandals before giving her a judicious nod. " _Very_ nice. That dress alone is killer, and you in it, Toots…" He shook his head appreciatively. "I gotta say: ten out of ten."

Relieved, she grinned up at her cousin, impeccably turned out, himself, in black tie. "Does that mean you won't be embarrassed to be seen with me?"

He laughed. "For a change. Tell you what: it's gonna be a kick watching you knock guys dead all evening long. I'll keep a tally for you, Gramps."

Booth took Bonnie's hands in his, and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'm really sorry I can't escort you tonight, Bonbon. You know that, right?"

She returned the pressure, and, leaning in, kissed his cheek. "Don't give it another thought, Gramps. It'd be a wonder if you felt like going out when you only just got back from the beach house this morning. You have yourself a quiet evening, and I'll tell you all about the gala later. Don't wait up for me, though," she cautioned. "I'll probably spend the night in town."

"Only 'probably,' huh?" Eddie asked, once they were settled in the SteerE and on their way. The afternoon light was fading fast, but there was no mistaking the mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Still not sure Baer's going to ask you back to his place for the night?"

Bonnie drew in a sharp breath, and rounded on him incredulously. "That's not what I meant at all, and you know it!"

"And the possibility never once crossed your mind, right?" He snorted. "Give me a break! I saw the two of you together at the hospital, remember? You're not gonna convince me there's nothing going on."

She glared at him repressively, even as a traitorous blush stained her cheeks. "And how're things going with you and Deena?"

His grin was unrepentant. "Touché!" He gave her a moment to simmer down, then ventured, "Speaking of your admirers, how 'bout old Trevor? Heard anything from him yet, or is that subject still taboo?"

September was already several days flown, and in that time, she'd had only one text from Trev, saying he was thinking of her, and looking forward to Labor Day. Everything she knew about his current whereabouts and circumstances, she'd learned from Vanna. "Apparently, he's winding up a trip out west. One of his college buddies is hiking the length of the Colorado Trail this summer, and Trev went out to do a stretch of it with him. He's been talking about wanting to get out into the wilderness for years — you know, the kind of thing where you jam everything you could possibly need for a week or more into a backpack and disappear into the great outdoors."

Eddie smiled knowingly. "Roughing it's never been your cup of tea."

"No. I'm perfectly fine with trekking through the woods for hours, but, at the end of the day, give me a hot shower and access to flush toilets. Namby-pamby, I know. Anyway, he's supposed to fly back either today or tomorrow, depending on what kind of time they make on the hike."

By an odd coincidence, when Bonnie crossed the threshold into the Great Hall some time later, it was if she had stepped into a moonlit clearing in a forest wonderland. Stands of potted saplings, their branches bedecked with fairy lights, had been set out at regular intervals to form an enclosure of sorts at one end of the cavernous space, with masses of ferns, compact shrubs and flowering plants filling in the gaps between. Behind the trees, the bank of windows and even the walls had been draped with heavy folds of blue-black cloth, creating an artificial darkness relieved only by the miniature lanterns glowing atop the cocktail tables, and the projection, on the ceiling, of a cloud-veiled moon floating in a midnight sky.

Beside her, Eddie gazed about him with interest. "Looks like a stage set for a production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_."

"It really does." A shaft of light, suggestive of a moonbeam, caught her attention and drew her eye to the near side of the hall where a deep alcove had been transformed into a lush bower, with, glinting at its center, what appeared to be a tall, metal sculpture on a pedestal. A small group had gathered in the vicinity, partly obscuring her view, but then, as she watched, one of the party extended an arm, glass in hand, toward the structure, and she understood. "Look, Eddie! It's a fountain! Like the one in Lebrun's painting!"

She moved off toward it, not at a run, certainly, but at a brisk, eager pace. As she approached, she began to make out the details that cleverly evoked _La Coupe d'amour_ : the circular blue floor-covering bordered in gray meant to represent the fountain's basin, the profusion of white flower balls wreathing the base like billows of mist, and everywhere, in the fountain's "pool," hanging from its bowl, and cavorting in the flowers, pudgy, sweet-faced putti. There was even a cupid hovering in the air, an arrow nocked in his bow and ready to be sped into some unsuspecting heart.

So focused was she on the fountain, Bonnie didn't notice Dr. Cummings until she was practically right next to him. "Oh! Good evening, sir," she said, in answer to his greeting. "I didn't see you there."

He chuckled delightedly. "No, you only had eyes for this little beauty here." He turned back to admire the rivulets of pale gold liquid streaming down through a top and middle tier, and spouting out, finally, into an enormous silver-aluminum bowl. "The Event Staff did a bang-up job, don't you think? They couldn't find a drinks fountain on the market grand enough to suit the occasion, so they built one themselves." He caught sight of Eddie at Bonnie's elbow, and, extending a hand, smiled in welcome. "Now, would you be Bonnie's brother or cousin? You bear too strong a resemblance to Special Agent Booth not to be related."

Bonnie made the introductions, and explained how it was that Dr. Cummings was acquainted with their grandfather. At Eddie's polite show of interest, Dr. Cummings launched into a comprehensive rehash of the old investigation, which, to judge from the fixed smile on her cousin's face, Eddie endured more than enjoyed. She, too, listened with only half an ear, distracted by the splendor of the decorations and by the arrival of several early-bird attendees who, strolling in, pulled up short and looked about them in amazement. Bonnie did not want to admit she was watching particularly for Bear but then, he walked in with his quicker, more purposeful step, and she could not contain her smile. He stopped to survey the hall, and, having spotted them, headed in their direction around and past the couples in his way.

Bear might have deplored the necessity of wearing a 'monkey suit,' but there was no denying he cut a fine figure in his severe formal attire. His tuxedo jacket was not in the latest fashion, but it fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and trim waist, and, if there was nothing especially stylish about his butterfly bow tie, plain onyx studs and flat, white pocket square, neither was there anything to reproach in them. As he drew closer and Bonnie smiled into his eyes, Bear seemed almost to stumble, but he recovered quickly and came on to join them without further misstep.

"Ah, Baer!" Cummings clapped his assistant heartily on the back. "There you are! And not a moment too soon by the looks of it," he added, seeming surprised by the number of guests already milling about the hall. Suddenly, he flashed an ingratiating smile, and, raising a hand, acknowledged the gracious nod of a distinguished older gentleman. Bonnie recognized the French Cultural Attaché, accompanied by an elegant woman she assumed to be his wife. Cummings set off toward them with no more ceremony than a murmured "If you'll excuse me" over his shoulder.

They watched him go, and then, Eddie holding out a hand to him, Bear took it. "Good to see you, Booth. I didn't expect to have the pleasure."

"Yeah, well, you know how it is." He snaked an arm around Bonnie's shoulder, and hugged her to his side. "Anything for this little Sweet Tart here. I'm gonna say, as shouldn't, being family, she looks pretty as a picture tonight. Don't you think?"

Before Bear could formulate an answer, Eddie's brows drew down in concern, and, reaching into his jacket's inner pocket, he extracted a device so small and wafer-thin Bonnie didn't immediately recognize it as a vid-screen. "Paradise Lost," he said, all trace of levity gone. "Sorry. I've got to take this." And, with that, he swung on his heel, and strode off, the device already pressed to his ear.

When he had disappeared from view, Bear turned back to Bonnie. "Trouble at the bar again?"

"Sounds like it." She wondered if that was the last they'd see of Eddie for the evening. "I hope it's nothing serious."

There followed a few awkward moments where neither spoke, or could look at the other without a self-conscious smile. For something to say, Bonnie was just about to ask how dropping Danny off at the Jolicoeurs' had gone when Bear volunteered, "Seems I might've lost my chance to set Booth straight."

Bonnie couldn't have said if it was the warmth or devilry in his eyes that flustered her more. "About…?"

"Your being pretty as a picture. You're actually pretty as a _painting_ , if I don't miss my guess. _La Coupe d'amour_ , to be precise."

She colored with a mixture of pleasure and diffidence. "It's not too obvious, is it? I don't want to look like I'm wearing a costume."

"No danger of that," he assured her. "It'd take someone who knows the painting really well to see the similarities, and even then, they'd only be tipped off by the roses in your hair." He looked about him at the trees, the burbling fountain, the night sky overhead. "Were you in on all this, then? It's too bad no one thought to clue me in on the plan. I could've broken out my toga."

Bonnie burst out laughing at the thought of Bear kitted out like Lebrun's male figure. "You'd never!"

"No," he conceded, glancing pointedly down at himself. "I'm ridiculous enough in this getup as it is."

She tried valiantly to suppress a smile, but doubted she was entirely successful. "You're no such thing. You look very debonair, in fact. Except for… well… your tie."

Bear fingered the offending object irritably. "The blasted thing. I can never get it knotted right."

She took a step toward him, hands reaching up toward his collar. "May I?"

"Ah…" The butterfly trembled like a live creature as Bear swallowed hard. "I… er, sure."

He angled his chin up for her, and held himself rigidly still for as long as it took her to twist and tug the black silk folds taut and straight. "There," she said, retreating a step and grinning up at him. "Now you're flawless."

Bear, however, did not return her smile, or seem even to have heard her. His eyes were not on hers, but fully intent on her mouth, no very great distance from his own. Bonnie froze in place, her breath catching in her throat as she became suddenly, acutely aware that he had only to lower his head a few, short inches to press his lips to hers. He flicked a glance up at her, the familiar troubled look back in his eyes, and then, his gaze dropping down again…

"Bonnie?"

Startled, Bonnie and Bear both jumped, causing the tall blond who'd come up beside them to grimace in apology. "Sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt…"

"Not at all," Bonnie said, composing herself as best she could. The woman's face was vaguely familiar, but Bonnie wouldn't have placed her if not for the professional camera gear slung round her neck. "Andrea, isn't it? From PR?"

"I'm flattered you remember. Dr. Baer," she said, giving him a nod. "As you've probably already figured out, I'm the photog on duty tonight, and I'd like to get a shot of the two of you together while the getting's good."

Bonnie looked a question at Bear who shrugged, resigned. "All right. Where do you want us?"

"I'm thinking right here, by the fountain. Hold on a sec." She made her way to a table laden with shallow, broad-bowled glasses, and returned with one for each of them. "Here, take these. Now, what I'd like for you to do is stand right about here…" She positioned them side by side an easy arm's length from the fountain. "Good! Now, hold your glasses out toward the champagne but not under it… That's it. Now, Dr. Baer, if you could lean forward a bit? Bonnie, can you turn your shoulders toward me without moving your head? Perfect!" Andrea continued in this vein, coaxing the poses she wanted out of them, all the while snapping merrily away and in constant motion herself. "Okay, for this last one, go ahead and fill those glasses, but this time look at me while you do it. At _me_ , please! Eyes this way! Big smiles… Don't move a muscle now… Got it!" She lowered the camera, and treated them to a toothy grin. "Thanks! You guys have been real troopers. I'll leave you to enjoy your drinks. Have a good evening!"

Before she could walk away, however, a young couple, coupes already in hand, asked if she wouldn't take their picture, too. Bear and Bonnie, their champagne untouched, slipped out of the bower to make room for them. When they'd gone a few feet away, Bonnie stopped and raised her glass to Bear. "Cheers."

He clinked his rim to hers. "Cheers."

She'd taken no more than a small sip when she spied Eddie wending his way back to them. His face was no less pinched and grim, but she didn't sense any urgency about him. "Everything all right?" she asked when he'd come within range.

He blew out a long breath. "There's been some unpleasantness," he admitted. "Nothing Deena shouldn't be able to handle on her own."

The hint of doubt in his voice was subtle but unmistakable. "You're worried about her. Really, Eddie, if there's any chance she might need you, you should go."

Still, Eddie hesitated. "I don't know. It's not like it's an emergency…" He regarded her uneasily, obviously torn. "I don't feel right bailing on you, Bonbon. Besides, I promised Gramps…"

He broke off with such a theatrical air of fatality that Bonnie immediately smelled a rat. Bear, far less wise to the wiles of Eddie Booth, offered, "I'll see Bonnie gets home safely, if that's the hold-up."

Eddie brightened at once. "Oh, man! Would you, really? I wouldn't want to impose, but, seriously, that'd be great."

"It's no trouble."

They shook on it, and then, her devious cousin leaning down to kiss her cheek good-bye, he whispered in her ear, "You can thank me later. Have fun."


	66. Chapter 66: Gala, II

66\. Gala, II

Inevitably, as a function of their duties for the evening, Bonnie and Bear were obliged to separate. She had, indeed, only just introduced Bear to her younger uncle and aunt Booth when he was summoned away to entertain Mrs. Evelyn Smythe, a wealthy old Tartar known among Institute insiders as much for her arrogance as her largesse. "Poor bugger," Hank said, looking after him sympathetically. "Still, goes with the territory, doesn't it? Got to keep the money-bags sweet, and those funding dollars rolling in. Mom and your Grandpa Jack had to do it, too, back in their day. They really hated that aspect of their jobs, let me tell you."

Bonnie expected at any moment to be called on in her turn to make nice with a major donor or two, but, in the event, she was left to mix with the guests as she pleased and without interference, possibly because she was, at intervals, already in the company of VIPs on a par with any Dr. Cummings might have produced. These luminaries were, for the most part, old friends and former colleagues of her grandparents: celebrated artist, Roxie Lyon; bestselling author and retired Head of the Institute's Forensic Division, Clark Edison; Senator and Mrs. James Aubrey of Virginia, and, Bonnie's personal favorite, prominent entrepreneur and her honorary great-uncle, "Opie" Abernathy. Renowned philanthropist Agnes Simon, remembering Bonnie from their having been guests together at Rosa's post-show dinner, also stopped for a short chat ("I've yet to get to the bottom of that _Dolphin_ mystery. You?"), as did the art critic she'd met on that same occasion. He earned the distinction of being the only person all evening to seek her out for no other purpose than to discuss _La Coupe d'amour_.

Given that she was almost constantly engaged by some combination of friends and family, there was nothing at all remarkable about the conversations' skewing decidedly personal, but, as it happened, even the strangers who approached her showed little-to-no interest in Lebrun and his masterpiece. A few men — Eddie would've been disappointed to note exactly how few — tried to strike up a flirtation, but she discouraged them politely, and they were too well-mannered to persist. As for the women, they sought her out not to talk about art, but to compliment her on her dress and to examine it more closely. Margot and Dana Denholm, who prided themselves on keeping abreast of all the latest fashion trends, were particularly obsessed with it, and pressed her for so many details regarding its design and construction, that Bonnie soon tired of the subject. It was, consequently, with as much relief as delight that she saw Trenton and Freya Wyndham-Pryce come up beside their nieces. To her disappointment, however, they wouldn't hear of interrupting for long. "No, no, my dear," the Senator said, the affectionate smile she knew so well softening his features. "We won't intrude. We just stopped to say hello, and to ask you to promise — faithfully, now! — to sit with us over dinner, or, at least a goodly portion of it, if you can't manage the whole."

"Please say you will." Freya's smile, like her husband's, was warm and inviting, but not, Bonnie saw with regret, entirely easy. "It's been ages."

"Of course." Bonnie could no more have refused them than her own family. "I'll look for you, later, in the dining room."

"Wonderful!" Freya slipped her arm through the Senator's and propelled him gently into motion. "We'll save you a seat. You, too, girls."

Bonnie, in no hurry to resume talking of fabrics and finishings, watched them move off and be gathered a few steps further on into a group of their friends. She turned back with a stifled sigh, and found the sisters sharing a long look, all raised brows and wondering eyes. "What?" she asked, unwisely, she realized an instant later, it having occurred to her, too late, that they were probably amazed, under the circumstances, that their aunt and uncle's fondness for her hadn't changed.

"We didn't expect to see them here tonight, is all," Margot said.

Bonnie might have taken this as confirmation of her suspicion had Dana not gone on to add, "Yeah, they've been real homebodies all summer, spending most of their time up at the lake. All those fundraising and campaign events in the Spring really ran them off their feet. They've steered completely away from the social whirl for the last few weeks."

Margot nodded. "The whole month of August, all they did was a little fishing, and some leisurely cruising out on the lake. Can you imagine? I'd've gone nuts inside a week. Still, it looks like the R & R did them good." She turned to consult her sister. "Don't you think?"

"Definitely. Aunt Freya, anyway. I didn't really get a good look at Uncle Trenton. The light's so bad in here."

"True." Margot cast a considering look about her. "It's not so dark now, though, as when we first got here. Either that, or my eyes have finally adjusted."

"No, you're right," Bonnie said, with some surprise. "It really _is_ brighter." She turned her face up to the night-sky projection and saw that the moon was no longer riding so high, nor were the stars so bright. The black sky had taken on color, too, a purplish blue around the setting moon on one edge fading across the great vault of ceiling to a rosy mauve on the other. "I think it's meant to suggest that dawn's approaching…"

"And the cocktail hour's about to end," Dana surmised, her eyes scanning the heavens appreciatively. "Clever."

They suddenly discovered an imperative need to replenish their drinks and, with no more than a parting reminder to send them Emily Kreb's complete contact information, headed off to top up their champagne coupes. With their departure, Bonnie had her first breather of the evening, and took advantage to steal a quick look about for Bear. For all she'd genuinely enjoyed reconnecting with her grandparents' old friends and catching up with her own, she was guiltily conscious of not having afforded any one of them her undivided attention. A small but stubborn part of her mind had been constantly wandering, distracted by thoughts of the kiss she and Bear had come so close to sharing and by the unsettling awareness of his presence somewhere in the Hall. Much as she'd tried to concentrate, she hadn't always been able to keep her eyes from straying over the crowd in search of him, especially as she'd been fortunate enough to pick him out of the semi-darkness several times. Once, she'd only just missed meeting his gaze, or such had been her impression, anyway. In the moment, she'd hadn't known whether to be more disappointed or relieved.

Though she had little expectation of finding him still there, she glanced, first, toward the spot, several feet away, where she'd last seen Bear in the company of Dr. Cummings, an elegant woman of a certain age, and her much younger escort, but, of that congenial foursome, there was no longer any sign. Dr. Cummings had remained in the general area and was lavishing his particular brand of charm on another duo, but Bear had, evidently, moved on. She wasn't immediately discouraged, and, though it required a certain amount of undignified neck-craning and rising up on tip-toes, she executed these moves so discretely, she felt sure no one would be the wiser as to what she was about. But there, she was wrong as there came a light touch on her elbow, and a laughing voice in her ear teased, "Here I am! You can stop looking, now."

Bonnie spun to her right, and found Vanna smiling broadly at her, very pleased with her little joke. She must not have hidden her surprise at all well for Vanna continued gaily, "No, don't burst my bubble, and tell me you were looking for someone else! Let me have my little fantasy."

Bonnie smiled ruefully, and, taking Vanna's free hand, gave it a squeeze, and then, for good measure, kissed her cheek. "I _have_ been wondering where you'd gotten to," she said, with perfect honesty. "Have your ears been burning? I've been giving you credit all evening as co-designer of this dress."

"Have you, really? That's super generous of you, considering all I ever did was cheer you on when you were having second thoughts. I told you — didn't I? — that you'd be the belle of the ball, and I was a hundred percent right. You're an absolute sensation! All anyone can talk about is how stunning you look!"

"I sincerely doubt that. Especially when you look so lovely, yourself." Vanna had chosen a fitted sheath of such utter simplicity, it might have been deemed plain or even prim but for its vivid blue color and a daring side slit that allowed a tantalizing glimpse of long, shapely leg. The gown's portrait neckline showcased the beautiful curves of her bare shoulders, and offered a hint of cleavage into the bargain. For an added touch of sophistication, she'd pulled her blonde hair up and back into a sleek French twist, and wore, for her only jewelry, sapphire drop earrings, the same color as her eyes. "You're chic as can be, head to toe."

"Well, aren't you sweet to say so!" Vanna ran a smoothing hand over the heavy silk satin of her skirt. "I was really of two minds about this dress. I'm usually the glitz-and-glamor type, all crystals and rhinestones, but I thought, tonight, I'd try something understated for a change. You know, more classy than flashy."

Bonnie nodded her approval. "You hit it out of the park, then. As my grandfather would say, you look like a million bucks!"

They went on to share their impressions of the gala — the fabulous decor, first-class refreshments, distinguished guests — and were joined before long by a beaming couple whom Vanna introduced as her parents, Mason and Sam. If Bonnie hadn't already met Charlie and Gus, she might easily have mistaken Mrs. Greeley for Vanna's elder sister, while Mr. Greeley with his bald head and slight paunch looked to have a daughter, or a trophy wife, on his arm. Whatever he lacked in physical presence, he more than made up for in personality, however, and it was soon evident from which of her parents Vanna had inherited her winning ways. As Andrea happened to be circulating in their vicinity, he beckoned the photog over so, he explained, he could have his picture taken with the "three most gorgeous gals in the room." Shortly after, he led his wife away, leaving the field open, as he put it, for Vanna and Bonnie's other admirers. "There's a fellow over that way," he said, with a roguish tip of the head, "been looking over here these last ten minutes, waiting for me to clear out."

Bonnie resisted the natural impulse to glance in the direction he'd indicated but Vanna didn't share her scruples, and avidly scanned the knots of people just beyond Bonnie's shoulder. "I don't see anyone... Unless... No," she said, with a nonchalant shrug, and then, on a suddenly brighter note, "Oh! Bonnie, over there, with that tall, silver-haired gentleman. Isn't that your foxy Dr. Baer?"

She swung to follow Vanna's gaze, and there he was, indeed, in conversation with a man she recognized on the strength of having attended one of his lectures as Dr. Piers Vanderhoven, Chief Curator at the nearby and prestigious Winterbourne Museum. Bear was listening respectfully, brow creased thoughtfully, oblivious, Bonnie would have said, to his surroundings, but then, almost as if he felt the weight of her gaze upon him, he raised his eyes her way, and, finding her looking back, relaxed into a smile of such quiet pleasure that Bonnie's fool heart skipped a beat, and the next thing she knew, she was smiling and coloring up all at the same time, happy and confused together. His eyes shone a moment with wry laughter, at her expense, assuredly, but also in part, she understood, at his own, and it was then, in that fraction of a second of shared humor at their mutual foolishness, that Bonnie knew, as certainty as if the great psychic Avalon Harmonia herself had foretold it, that for her and Bear, everything was going to work out right in the end. It would not be all smooth sailing, of course; there would be setbacks ahead, misunderstandings, disappointments, and various rough spots to negotiate, but, with time and loving patience, they would make it through to their happily-ever-after. She was suddenly, unshakably sure.

"Oh, look!" Bonnie had so far forgotten Vanna's presence that she started at her excited cry. "They're shaking hands, and going their separate ways! Now's the time, wouldn't you say, Bonnie? You _did_ promise to introduce me, remember."

"So I did." And she could admit to herself, now that her heart was easy, that she'd been glad of any excuse not to make her beautiful friend known to Bear. "And you've waited far too long already. Come on, then. Let's get you two acquainted."

As she approached, Bear smiled steadily into Bonnie's eyes, his focus so entirely on her, he seemed disconcerted to see Vanna suddenly pop up, prompt and perky, before him. He flashed Bonnie a sidelong, quizzical look, but lent himself politely to the introduction, and even made something of an effort to be agreeable, which proved more than enough encouragement for Vanna. She turned her charm and vivacity up high, and, in that mode, no one, not even a man of Bear's considerable reserve, stood a chance of resisting her altogether. Before long, she'd managed to coax him into lowering his guard a bit and joining her in a light, amusing conversation. Bonnie, watching her sparkle and beguile, marveled at her address without, happily, feeling threatened by it as she might have done only an hour earlier. She rejoiced, rather, that these two people whom she very much wanted in her life had taken a liking to each other, and might, given the chance, become firm friends in time. She so hoped they would...

A rumbling, as of distant thunder, broke into these reflections, and Vanna, partway through a half-joking demonstration of the similarities between public relations and art conservation, stopped in mid-sentence to ask, "Do you feel that?" The floor boards were vibrating, faintly but noticeably, and others in their area were, variously, looking down at their feet, or around them for the source of the commotion. A buzz of excitement went up, as, on the edge of the cleared space closest to the room divider, the crowns of several trees could be seen quaking as they were rolled back from the enclosure, and arranged in two parallel rows which served to mark both a new opening and a passageway leading out. There came additional sounds of scraping, rustling and scampering as the rest of the shrubs and plants was whisked into new positions, and then, with a slowness that was nothing short of dramatic, the overlapping velour drapes curtaining off the greater part of the Hall were drawn up and to the side, revealing some of the candle-bright, greenery-hung dining room beyond. A collective sigh of appreciation soughed through the crowd, and, as one, people began to trend toward the exit, their progress halting due to the narrowness of the passage but orderly and courteous all the same. By tacit agreement, Bear and Bonnie hung back, letting the gala guests precede them, and Vanna remained behind as well, taking advantage of the necessary wait to return to her argument.

Bonnie half-listened, her attention diverted by the spectacle of the slow, fluid exodus from the room. She was put in mind of a peaceful river, flowing calmly, inexorably toward the sea, and it was, no doubt, as a contrast to this constant stream of motion that the still and solitary figure first caught her eye. He was standing, arms crossed negligently over his chest facing in her direction, a tall, tan, roughly-shaven individual with a headful of sun-bleached locks that could have used a serious trim. Grooming aside, she was obliged to give him full marks for his tailoring; his royal blue tuxedo jacket was a bold choice and not a style many men could pull off, as she'd once pointed out to... Her hand flew up involuntarily to cover her gasp of surprise, and, across the room, a wide, wicked grin split the bearded man's face.

"Trev!"


	67. Chapter 67: Gala, III

Gala, III

Bonnie must have breathed the name out unconsciously, because Vanna broke off what she was saying, and turned to her excitedly. "Really? Where?" She didn't wait for an answer, but followed Bonnie's gaze eagerly, and lit up at the sight of Trev striding in their direction.

Trev was also grinning ear-to-ear, and, as he drew closer, he simply held out his arms, and, with a fine contempt for decorum, caught Bonnie up in a hug that stopped just short of lifting her off her feet. Her arms slipped around him, too, for balance, and then, with a hearty buss on her temple, he was pulling back, his hands bracing her shoulders between them, and his eyes laughing down into hers. "You had me worried for a minute, there, Bonita Angel! I thought I was going to have to come over here and introduce myself, like a stranger."

Bonnie thumped him soundly on his blue satin shawl lapel. "It's no less than you deserve, showing up without a word to anyone, and practically in disguise!" She reached up and tugged playfully at a scraggly pinch of beard. "You look like some primitive mountain man."

"Which is just what I was 'til this morning." He ran a self-conscious hand over his stubbly cheeks and jaw. "The game plan was to score a seat on an early flight, and get back here in time for a last-minute hair cut and shave, but my luck was out, and I didn't leave Denver until just after noon. It was either turn up like this, or miss out on tonight, and I wasn't having that."

He took possession of one of her hands, and, holding tight, turned to greet Vanna with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. "Vanna. You look especially lovely tonight. Enjoying the gala?"

"Immensely," she said, pink with pleasure. "I'm so glad you made it."

He thanked her with a twinkling look. "It was a near-run thing. And Baer." He extended a hand, which Bear accepted civilly. "Here you are with the evening's two most stunning creatures all to yourself, and I come in, crashing your party."

"Not at all." Bear's manner was on the cool side of courteous; correct, but distant. "Your timing couldn't be better, in fact. We were just going in to dinner."

Trev cast an assessing glance over his shoulder at the exiting throng, and turned back, unconcerned. "It'll be a while, yet, before they're all through. No need to rush."

"Not for you or Vanna," Bear allowed, "but Bonnie and I have a number of guests at our table we're expected to help entertain…"

"Bonnie's actually working here tonight," Vanna reminded Trev in a whisper.

He looked instantly contrite. "Oh, right! Sorry! In all the excitement, I completely forgot."

Bonnie gave his arm a comforting pat. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later, after dinner, if not during," she said, as much for her own consolation as for his. "I'm really, _really_ glad to see you, Trev — you have no idea how much! — and I'm dying to hear everything you've been up to these last ten weeks, but…"

"People are counting on you," he finished for her, with a quick nod of understanding. "I should've realized, but I didn't think… or, no, I did, but only of myself, and not of how awkward a spot I'd be putting you in." His smile twisted ruefully, his eyes begging her pardon, and then, summoning a cheery air for her sake, he gave her hand a last, encouraging squeeze and let go. "You go on and take care of business. I'll still be here when you're done, whenever that is."

Vanna closed the small distance between herself and Trev, and laid a light hand on his elbow. "Have you have a chance to see the champagne fountain? It's really something special, and just over this way…"

Trev welcomed the suggestion gratefully, and, promises of "later" having been exchanged, he and Vanna set off, against the tide as it were, back into the largely-deserted cocktail area. Bonnie watched after them a long moment, one part wistful to three parts relieved, and then, turning back to find Bear waiting to start toward the dining room, she smiled and fell into a slow, deliberate walk beside him.

They didn't speak, at first; Bonnie could see that Bear, while not precisely brooding, was preoccupied with thoughts or feelings of his own, and she was careful not to intrude on them. She supposed, in any case, that he was wrestling with a fit of bad humor — denial notwithstanding, he'd clearly been annoyed by Trev's appearing out of nowhere — and so, when, at last, he looked up from his shoe tops and across at her, she was not at all prepared to hear, "There's your cousin's seat at our table."

She did not immediately take his meaning, and, when she did, it was all she could do not to thread her arm through his, and tuck herself into his side. She settled, instead, for shaking her head decidedly. "Eddie was always going to sit with our uncle and aunt Booth. He was filling in for my grandfather, you see, and Gramps made the choice to have his dinner with family and friends. More comfortable for him, less distracting for me." She measured out a few more steps, then added a heartfelt, "But, thank you. It was a kind thought."

He made no more reply to this than a nod, and they ambled on in silence, Bear, unaccountably, retreating again into his own sober reflections. At length, he flashed her an uncertain glance, and, carefully, as if weighing every word, brought out, "You can switch to Wyndham-Pryce's table, if you want. I'll clear it with Cummings."

This time, she _did_ slip her hand inside his elbow, propriety be damned. "What I _want_ — since you ask — is to sit with people whose primary reason for coming tonight is to celebrate _La Coupe d'amour_ and this very proud moment in the Institute's history. This is our painting's big send-off, its formal debut, and I want to be front and center, savoring every toast and tribute, every presentation. I was assigned Table One, and there's _no_ table _anywhere_ in the dining room I'd willingly trade it for."

She delivered this statement with a look so plainly defying him to misunderstand her that he couldn't quite suppress a smile. "Table One it is."

It was just as well that nothing remained to be said on the subject, as, their turn to pass through into the dining room having come at last, Bonnie's breath was stolen away by the scene that met her eyes. If the upper stretch of the Hall had been converted into a forest glade, the lower had been transformed, by the ingenious use of towering, cut-branch centerpieces, into a fairy grove of young, vigorous trees. The leafy boughs, fountaining high out of tall, crystal cylinders, arched gracefully over the tables and dripped, at the end of fine, silver wires, an enchanting array of delicate glass baubles, each cheerful with the glow of a tiny white candle. The columns down the sides of the space were thickly wreathed about with greens as well, but there was color, too, in the garlands of flowers festooning the walls, the fragrant rings of tea roses, hydrangea and baby's breath at the base of every vase, and, at the far end of the room, the huge, bloom-packed floral arch that stood framing a rustic garden, realistically rendered in paint.

Bonnie had the leisure to admire these details and the gleam and glint of fine china and stemware as she and Bear wended their way down the entire length of the Hall to their table. They were, unsurprisingly, the last of their party to arrive, and so late, servers were hovering nearby and waiting only for them to find their seats before bringing out the first course dishes. Bonnie had drawn Dr. Cummings as one of her dinner partners, and, hastening to his side so as not to keep him standing, she saw that the ill-assorted couple she'd noticed earlier in the evening had also risen from their chairs to receive her. " _Here_ she is," Dr. Cummings said heartily, an unspoken _finally_ nonetheless clearly implied. "Geneva, Marc, my young colleague, Miss Booth-Hodgins…"

" _Bonnie_ , please," she insisted, holding her hand out to the woman. Close up, her age-softened features and faint smile lines proclaimed her age as nigh on sixty, but she carried her years well, and wore her silver taffeta evening suit with style. Bonnie was just reaching her hand out to the woman's escort - a good-looking man of no more than thirty — when Dr. Cummings continued, "Geneva Duchesnay, Bonnie, and her son, Marc. Our special guests for the evening."

Bonnie drew in a sharp gasp of delight. "Oh! This really _is_ a pleasure!" she said, clasping Marc's hand in both of hers, and beaming from one to the other. "I'm _so_ honored to meet you!"

Geneva Duchesnay inclined her head amiably and with grace. "Thank you. But, you should know, it's actually my late mother-in-law, Adrienne Duchesnay, whose generosity is being recognized tonight. Any honor we accept is strictly in her name."

Marc, leaning in toward Bonnie, murmured, "We'd've kept the painting, if we could."

She laughed as she was meant to, and then, Dr. Cummings pulling out her chair for her, she took her place at the table, and Geneva, with Marc's assistance, did the same. The gentlemen slipping back into their seats, Dr. Cummings remarked, "The Duchesnays have been very much looking forward to speaking with you, Bonnie."

Startled, Bonnie turned toward mother and son, no more clever response than "Oh?" rising to her lips.

"That's right," Marc said, his dark eyes bright with mischief. "Mother's been waiting impatiently for the chance to tell you how very lovely you look."

"I was hoping to introduce myself earlier," Geneva confirmed from her son's far side, "but you were always surrounded, and I didn't like to intrude."

Bonnie was a tad disappointed, if flattered. "That's very kind…"

But Marc hadn't finished. "We've got a question for you, too. Or, not a question so much as a theory. Mother's persuaded, y'see, that you took your inspiration for your dress and hairstyle from the painting. As an homage to it, so to say."

A thrill of pleasant surprise so electrified Bonnie, she might have hugged Geneva had Marc not been squarely in the way. "You're exactly right, Ms. Duchesnay! That was precisely my intent. I'm so glad you saw it! You're only the second one who has."

"Well," Geneva said with a modest smile, "I have the advantage of long acquaintance, after all. The painting was a permanent fixture in my in-laws' living room for all the long years of my marriage. I must have seen it a thousand times!"

"Not to mention," Marc interposed dryly, "the private view of the restoration we had a few short hours ago. Refreshed the memory wonderfully."

"You've already seen the painting?" Bonnie hadn't known of any previews, but, as a special courtesy to the honorees, it made sense. "What did you think? Were you pleased?"

Geneva didn't hesitate. "Oh, yes! Enormously! Who knew all that glorious color was lying locked away under centuries of grime! I tell you, if Adrienne could see her painting today, she'd be prouder than a peacock! She always wanted to believe, you know, that the family lore was true, that the painting was an original Lebrun."

"Romantic old girl, was Granny," Marc quipped, raising his glass in what struck Bonnie as a somewhat ironic salute.

Their salads were set before them, artful arrangements of micro-greens, melon balls and heirloom tomatoes almost too pretty to eat. Rather than talk across her son, Geneva turned her attention to Bear, and Bonnie was left with only Marc to ask about the Duchesnays' history with the painting. It was soon apparent he could tell her no more than she already knew, and even Geneva, rejoining the conversation between courses, had to shake her head regretfully. "That information — who bought it, from whom, where, when — all that was lost generations ago. I doubt even my husband's grandparents could've told you. The only thing faithfully handed down the years was the claim that the painting was an important work of art."

Over beautifully-plated servings of lobster thermidor, Geneva steered the talk away from the past and around again to Bonnie's tribute to the painting, which, she said, had given her so much pleasure. "It was like seeing that exquisite girl brought to life. I don't mean to say you look like you just stepped out of the picture. It's more that you've captured her spirit, somehow; her essence. That painting, for me at least, has always been about the girl. She never fails to draw and hold my eye. That innocence and joy, that vulnerability… I can only assume, considering the trouble and expense you've gone to, that she must fascinate you, too."

"Oh, yes," Bonnie admitted easily, and then, after a moment's hesitation, confided, "I've been trying to identify her, actually. The young woman who posed for Lebrun."

"Have you really? How extraordinary! And have you managed to learn anything about her?"

Bonnie began with the intention of relating only the bare bones of Madeleine Lavallière's biography, but Geneva, leaning forward and almost into her son in her eagerness not to miss a word, was so thoroughly engaged, and so genuinely interested, Bonnie found herself recounting the whole, convoluted story, even to her speculations and wishful conclusions. Caught in the middle, Marc followed the back-and-forth without interrupting, a smile of mild amusement, likely at his mother's enthrallment, playing on his lips. When Bonnie'd wrapped up her tale with Madeleine's probable removal to Paris after Blanchard's death, Geneva said on a sigh, "That's as good as a novel! And you have no idea, as yet, what became of her in Paris? Or how and when she died?"

"Not at this time, no, but the inquiry's still ongoing." Her grandmother had reassured her of it only that morning.

"Then, would you do me the favor of letting me know if you discover anything more? I'd really like to know how it all turned out for her. Dr. Cummings can tell you how to contact me."

"Or…" Marc drew a slim metal case from his jacket pocket, and, slipping a business card out of it, presented it to Bonnie. "You can call me at this number — anytime — and I'll arrange a meeting."

"Oh!" Geneva looked quizzically from her son to Bonnie, and then, a light suddenly flaring in her eyes, she smiled radiantly. "Oh, yes! That's a much better plan."

The second course plates were cleared expeditiously, and, Margaret Schilling's image having taken the place of woodland scenes on the screens above and to either side of the floral arch, an expectant hush fell over the room. The Jeffersonian's Assistant Secretary of Advancement kicked off her emcee duties by expressing the Institute's sincere appreciation for the Jeff Society's loyal and indispensable support, and carried on from there to single out for special recognition the corporate sponsors whose generous contributions of funds, materials and services had made it possible for the Jeff to achieve its vision of a truly spectacular event. The French Cultural Attaché, representing his country, received the Institute's gratitude for the expert advice and invaluable assistance provided by the Louvre delegation, and Geneva was called up to the podium to accept, with the Jeff's profoundest thanks, a replica of the bronze plaque that would, henceforth, hang in the gallery next to the painting, commemorating and honoring in perpetuity the magnanimous gift of the Duchesnay family.

Geneva gave a pretty little speech on Adrienne's behalf, emphasizing the pride and gratification her mother-in-law would have felt in having restored a masterpiece to its rightful place in the world. And then, at long last, the time for the great reveal was upon them. At a signal from Ms. Schilling, the trompe-l'oeil panel was slowly hoisted out of the way, the drama unfolding on the screens, as well, for the benefit of those at the back of the Hall. When it had come to rest and been secured, what appeared to be a section of wall glided out of the shadows and into the floral arch, the once-lost treasure framed like a jewel in its center. "Ladies and gentlemen, Antoine Lebrun's _La Coupe d'amour_."

There was a moment of silence, a collective intake of breath, and then, people were rising from their chairs and breaking into applause, the ovation growing in force and enthusiasm as it swept up the Hall. Beside Bonnie, Dr. Cummings stood rocking on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his elation, and Bear, too far across the table for Bonnie's liking, was accepting Geneva's congratulations on a job well done. It was, however, Bonnie's eyes he sought to catch, his smile for her a celebration of what they'd achieved together, a shared triumph even as their work had been shared. Bonnie's heart, in that moment, expanded with such happiness, it was a wonder it didn't burst.

When the applause had died a natural death, Ms. Schilling announced that there would be a lengthy interval before dessert to accommodate anyone who cared for closer look at the painting to make their way forward. Alternately, she said, for those who preferred a different sort of interlude, the band had finished setting up in the cocktail area and would begin playing dance music shortly.

Marc smiled affably down at Bonnie. "I could certainly stand to stretch my legs a bit. How about it, Bonnie? Would you give me the pleasure of the first dance?"

Bonnie, thinking of the promise she'd made to the Senator and Freya, grimaced apologetically. "I'd love to, Marc, but as it happens…"

"I'm number one on her dance card," Trev said, popping up like a jack-in-the-box at her elbow. "Ready to go, there, pumpkin? They're playing our song."


	68. Chapter 68: Gala, IV

Gala, IV

Bonnie grimaced ruefully. "Would you take a raincheck?"

Marc took a moment to look Trev up and down, and then turned back to Bonnie, debonair again. "Of course. No problem. I'll catch up with you later."

Trev stepped back to allow Bonnie to precede him up the Hall. "Did I put my foot in it again?" he asked, when they were well out of Marc's hearing. "I thought you were giving him the brush off."

She shook her head. "I wasn't making an excuse. I really _do_ have a previous commitment."

"With Baer, I suppose."

"No, with your parents. I promised to find some time to sit with them over dinner, and this seemed the ideal opportunity."

"Oh!" That brought him up short. "Well, okay, then. They're right over this way. Table six."

They found the elder Wyndham-Pryces enjoying a quiet tête-à-tête in splendid isolation. Freya, catching sight of them first, brightened, and, rising, held her arms out to Bonnie. "You didn't forget!"

"Of course not," Bonnie said, breathing in Freya's familiar floral scent as they hugged.

The Senator embraced her in his turn. "My dear, I don't believe I told you, earlier, how very beautiful you look tonight! I realize I must be far from the first…"

She stopped him with a quiet smile. "It means more, coming from you."

Freya patted the seat that had been her husband's, and, the Senator moving over one chair, Bonnie settled between them while Trev sat down on his mother's far side. He cast a pointed look around the deserted table. "Where'd everybody go?"

"Well, let's see." Freya's gaze roved over the vacant chairs. "Vanna and her mother have gone to freshen their lipstick, Mason invited Dana to take a spin with him on the dance floor, and Margot said something about spotting an old friend."

"The Greeleys had dinner at your table?" Bonnie asked, not especially tactful in her surprise. "I wasn't aware you knew them."

"We met them over the summer, Samantha first, and Mason, later. Samantha heard — from Vanna, obviously — that we were struggling a bit to pull the charity fashion show together, and she very generously volunteered to pitch in. I can't tell you what a godsend she's been, Bonnie! That woman's an organizational genius! It's no wonder that Pageant Academy of hers is such a success. With her help, we went from being well-behind schedule to well-ahead. Everything's all set, and we still have two weeks to go! You're planning on being there, aren't you? I know you bought tickets."

"The date's circled in red on my calendar."

There was so much to catch up on, conversation flowed without interruption, and ranged over a wide variety of subjects. Bonnie was congratulated on her work on _La Coupe d'amour_ and encouraged to talk about the ins and outs of the project. When asked, the Senator replied that, after a quiet summer, the re-election campaign was preparing to ramp up again, and that early polls results were favorable. Freya described some overdue remodeling they'd had done at the lake house, and filled Bonnie in, too, on the latest doings of her sisters' families, notable among them Liv's daughter's having presented her with bouncing identical twin grandsons. All the while, the Greeleys and Denholms flitted to and from the table, one or another of them bearing Trev away as often as not. After much cajoling, Mason finally prevailed on Freya to grant him a dance, and, the rest of the company having taken themselves off elsewhere, Bonnie and the Senator found themselves alone.

He regarded her silently a moment, his longstanding affection plain to read in his eyes. "Would it be very gauche of me to say how much we've missed you?"

"Of course not," Bonnie said, quickly. "I've missed you, too. Very much."

He smiled softly, and nodded. "Well, that's all behind us now, thankfully." He reached into his jacket, and, drawing out his handkerchief, dabbed lightly at the perspiration beading his hair line. "Are you warm enough, my dear? They must have opened the windows or doors onto the terrace. There's definitely a new chill in the air."

Despite her bare arms and shoulders, Bonnie was perfectly comfortable and said so. It was only then she noticed the tension around the Senator's mouth and eyes. "Are you sure you feel all right?"

He produced a tired smile for her. "Just winding down, is all. The evening may still be young for you twenty-somethings, but it's getting on toward bedtime for old coots like me. I'm determined to make it through dessert, though. There's something on the menu I've a mind to try: blackberry clafoutis. Ever had it?"

"I have, and it's _wonderful_ ," Bonnie assured him; then, remembering his digestive issues, cautioned, "but very rich and heavy."

"I'll go easy, then." He took a sip of water, and, setting his glass back down, said, "There's something else, some very happy news we've kept back, for the simple reason that it's not ours to announce. They want to make a big occasion of it, you see, and, until then, no one outside the immediate family's supposed to know. I have to admit, though, one of my first thoughts, after the worst of the shock had passed, was 'wait til Bonnie hears this!' And now, here you are, and, for the life of me, I can't resist spilling the beans. I can count on you not to give me away, can't I, my dear? Freya will have my head on a platter if she finds out."

Such a mischievous gleam had livened the Senator's eyes that Bonnie would have played along even had her curiosity not been piqued. She traced a cross solemnly over her heart. "Mum's the word."

"Well, then, Bonnie!" His face split into a jaunty grin. "You may congratulate me! I'm to be a father-in-law!"

Her jaw dropped, and all that flashed through her mind was, _he did it_! In ten short weeks, Trev had found someone else, courted her, proposed to her, and, what was more, introduced her to his parents as his future bride! It must have been love at first sight…

The Senator was chuckling. "I knew you'd be as thunderstruck as I was! I had no notion the two were even serious, let alone talking marriage, and suddenly, here comes Mitch, a fellow — as you know — who never strings more than a few, short words together, asking if he could speak to me privately, and laying out — very cogently, I must say — all the reasons I could safely entrust my only daughter's material and emotional well-being to his care. It was like a scene out of some Victorian drama! All pro forma, of course — Emma'd already said yes — but, as a gesture of respect and consideration, I was as impressed as I was flabbergasted. Apparently, he's worth a pretty penny, did you know? Made a small fortune off some information tech he invented while at MIT."

Bonnie shook her head in wonder, her amazement tickling the Senator no end. "Well," she managed finally, "Still waters, indeed!" It was, in truth, less his revelations about Mitch, and more her own foolish jump to conclusions she marveled at, but, happily, he need never know. Impulsively, she laid her hand on his where it rested on his thigh, and squeezed gently. "Congratulations, Senator, sincerely, on gaining a very fine son-in-law. I hope Mitch and Emma have a long and happy life together."

"Yes." He smiled warmly, and patted her hand. "That's the main thing, isn't it?"

They went on to speak of other matters, principal among them the Senator's disappointment at not finding her grandfather in attendance, and his concern as to what that might mean about the old gentleman's health and general spirits. Bonnie was able to give him a reassuring report, and the Senator had just finished asking that she pass along his best regards when Mason and Freya returned to the table. Eyes bright and cheeks rosy from her exertions, Freya was happy to sink back onto her seat, but Mason was eager for another partner, and, seeing Bonnie at liberty, he begged so charmingly for the favor of her company that, in the end and with her friends' encouragement, she accepted his invitation.

"It's done my heart good to see you," the Senator said, as she kissed him good-bye, and "I'll look for you at the fashion show," Freya said, when it came her turn.

"Yes, I'll see you then." As Mason prepared to escort her away, Bonnie paused to look back over her shoulder, and smile. "Thank you, both, for coming."

The curtain that had previously partitioned the lower Hall off from the upper was, by now, no longer partly open, but fully drawn to the sides, revealing the remarkable transformation the event staff had effected while the gala guests sat blithely enjoying their dinners. To free up room for the band and dancers, the forest glade illusion had been largely dismantled; the greenery once packed among the potted trees had vanished, and the trees themselves, though they remained, had been relegated to the very edges of the space, flush against the walls. The area had been plunged anew into semi-darkness, the only illumination provided by the fairy lights sparkling in the tree branches, and, overhead, the projection of a slowly revolving night sky, its brilliant stars seeming to reflect in their motion the whirl of the dancers circling below.

Bonnie never took to the floor in open-toed sandals without a bit of apprehension, but a mere dozen steps sufficed to convince her that Mason posed no danger to her feet. His lead was, indeed, so deft and easy to follow, she felt moved to remark on it, and he returned the compliment. "It's a rare young lady these days who can foxtrot at all, let alone do it as well as you."

"As to that, the credit belongs to my grandfather. He began teaching me ballroom dances as soon as I could balance reliably on his shoe tops. He was such an gifted dancer, as a college student, he taught in a studio to help pay his expenses, and, later, he and my grandmother investigated a murder working undercover as a dance team vying for a spot on one of those TV competition shows."

Mason's brows rode up his forehead. "And they pulled it off without raising any suspicions?"

Bonnie smiled inwardly, remembering her grandfather's version of events. "It was touch and go, but they succeeded; apparently, no thanks to my grandmother!"

Mason would gladly have partnered her in another dance, but the music had no sooner ended than Marc turned up to cash in his raincheck, and after him, M. Benoît, the French Cultural Attaché, was waiting to solicit her hand. As the Frenchman waltzed her around the floor, Bonnie saw that Bear was doing his duty by the Jeff and dancing with Mme Benoît just as, earlier, he'd danced with Geneva, and a woman who might have been the imperious Mrs. Smythe. She saw as well, to her surprise, that Bear was actually very light on his feet, not a Fred Astaire like Mason, certainly, but a very desirable partner all the same. Madame clearly seemed to think so, given the delight on her upturned face.

Whether by luck or calculation, the last turn of the waltz brought Bonnie and M. Benoît within a few steps of where Bear and the gentleman's wife were finishing their dance. They crossed the short distance over to them, and joined with the rest of the crowd in politely applauding the band. The singer, a suave, velvet-voiced baritone, inclined his head in acknowledgement, and, speaking into the mic again, announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've been asked to pass on the glad tidings that dessert is now being served in the dining room. Also, for those of you, like myself, with a weakness for macarons and cream puffs, there's a wide array of patisseries and other refreshments awaiting your selection in the tent at the bottom of the terrace stairs. Please help yourselves. In the meantime, we'll be here, continuing to play for your listening and dancing pleasure. Thank you."

M. and Mme Benoît excused themselves, and, along with many others, headed off toward the dining room while a smaller number made for the far corner of the Hall where, as the Senator had suspected, a door stood open onto the mild September night. As before, Bear hung back, giving the guests precedence, and, as a matter of course, Bonnie remained with him, happy, for her part, not to leave the floor where, as long as they stayed put, there was always the chance, however infinitesimal, that Bear might ask her to dance. The band, for some reason, failing to launch immediately into their next number, she volunteered, to fill the silence, "I couldn't help but notice you dance very well."

Bear's lips twitched in amusement. "Naturally, you assumed I'd have two left feet."

She couldn't deny it. "It's nothing personal. It's just been my experience that most men can't do much more than sway in time to the music."

"My grandmother made me learn," he admitted, echoing, only in reverse, her own words to Mason. "She insisted that knowing how to dance would be to my advantage in the long run, a valuable 'string to my bow,' as she liked to say. I can't tell you how much I hated those lessons and the practicing, but my grandmother kept at me, and, in the end — I have to hand it to her — she was right." He smiled wryly. "A habit of hers, being right. Very annoying."

Bonnie laughed. "I can imagine!" She had no trouble recognizing in Bear's bossy, opinionated grandmother the autocratic Estelle Baer who'd tormented Rosa, but, in regards to her grandson, at least, it appeared the woman had been a kinder, gentler sort of tyrant. The proof lay not so much in what Bear had said about her as in his dryly affectionate tone of voice. However strict his grandmother had been in raising him, he seemed to feel only gratitude toward her, as if he appreciated she'd only ever been tough on him for his own good. Knowing Rosa's story, Bonnie'd been troubled for weeks by the question of whether Bear's relationship with his grandmother had been happy, and here, like an unexpected gift, she'd been given the answer: _yes_. Bear had loved his grandmother, and been secure, as well, in her love for him. Estelle Baer hadn't, after all, been a monster through and through.

A few bars of dreamy melody broke into these thoughts, recalling her attention to the band and, particularly, to the singer who, over the piano playing softly in the background, introduced the next tune as going out, by request, to an especially lovely lady. "No name given, but, whoever you are — and from where I'm standing, ladies, it could be any one of you — here's to you for being so captivating… Just the way you look, tonight."

He picked up his cue, and swung smoothly into the song, his voice pleasantly low and foggy. The partners who'd lingered on the floor lost no time in stepping into each other's arms, and a few couples were seduced off the sidelines by the ballad's sultry rhythm. Bear looked at Bonnie, and she at him, an unspoken "Shall we…?" all but vibrating in the air between them, and then, they'd left it too late. Vanna was hurrying toward them, all smiles, with Trev trailing just behind her. "Oh, good!" she said. "I was afraid we wouldn't catch you in time!"

Bonnie found a welcoming smile for her, though it took some effort. "Time for what, Van?"

"Well, for the dance, of course, silly! Don't tell me you haven't figured out who requested that song!"

Bonnie's eyes flew to Trev. " _You_ did?"

"Who else?" Vanna said, as Trev, looking somewhat self-conscious, tried for a nonchalant shrug. "So, go on now, you two! Shake a leg! I'll be fine," she went on, when they didn't jump to obey her. "There's bound to be some tall, dark gentleman nearby who'll take pity on a girl standing around all on her lonesome."

She followed this up with such a saucy look in Bear's direction, he was hard put to suppress a smile. "Would you care to dance, Vanna?"

"Why, thank you, sir!" she said, laying the Southern charm on super-thick. "I do believe I would!"

She took the arm Bear offered, and, with a parting wink over her shoulder, moved off with him onto the floor. "That was decent of him," Trev allowed, as, Bonnie taking his hand, he drew her carefully into the flow of the dance.

"Easy, there! It's grudging respect tonight, and, next thing you know, you'll find yourself actually liking him."

Trev snorted. "Fat chance of that."

He guided her out of the path of an oncoming couple, his lead so adroit and familiar Bonnie followed without thinking. "Did you really ask the band to play this song? I'd've bet good money you'd didn't know it."

"I've seen a few rom coms in my life. Been to my share of weddings, too."

"That explains it, then. Still, the grand romantic gesture isn't usually your style."

"Yeah, well, what with being, very possibly, the only guy here not to tell you yet how gorgeous you look, I figured it was either go big or go home." He released her into a slow turn, twirling her away from him and back again. "I get that I probably shouldn't've come tonight but, seeing you like this, more beautiful, somehow, than you've ever looked before, honestly, I can't bring myself to be sorry. There'll be pictures in tomorrow's social media, sure, but they won't come anywhere close to doing you justice. It's not the dress — though it's incredible, don't get me wrong! — or the way you've done your hair or make-up. It's you. You're… radiant."

Bonnie felt herself color up. "I think the word you want is 'glowing,'" she said, lightly. "They really should open another window or two."

"It's not the heat," he began, only to break off suddenly, his eyes rounding with inspiration. "I've got it! How 'bout we finish this dance out under the real stars? It'll be cooler on the terrace, and, after, we can have our dessert together, al fresco. I've heard credible reports of babas au rhum and opera cake."

"Oh! No fair using my favorite sweets against me! How's a girl supposed to say no?"

"Is that a yes, then?" He waited for her answer, and, when she wavered, her eyes straying over the other dancers for a glimpse of Bear, he reminded her, "You did say there'd be time to talk."

She caught sight of Bear, then, head politely inclined toward Vanna, intent, to all appearances, on whatever it was she was saying. It came to her all at once, as of something obvious in itself, that Vanna, in an effort to be helpful, had set herself to keeping Bear occupied and unconcerned, for a time, with where and with whom his colleague might have wandered off to. Trev, following her gaze, said, as if in confirmation, "He won't miss you for a while. So… will you come?"

"All right," she nodded. "Yes."


	69. Chapter 69: Trev, I

Trev, I

The singer crooned the last of the lyrics, and the piano, rounding out the song with a delicate flourish, played Bonnie and Trev off the dance floor and through the open door into the late summer night. The outside air was balmy still, but just enough cooler on Bonnie's skin to feel like a welcome caress. The flagged terrace, lit along its balusters by a few twinkling boxwood spires, was scarcely less dark than the Hall behind them, but, in compensation, below, on the edge of the night-shadowed garden, the refreshment tent blazed brightly, its partly-transparent canopy aglow with the light of a myriad Chinese lanterns. A babble of voices, sweet with the occasional laugh, wafted up to them from in and around the tent, drawing them irresistibly to the stairs and down, into the festive atmosphere.

As was her wont, Bonnie no sooner spied the gorgeous display of beautifully-crafted pastries than she was beset by horrible indecision. Trev, knowing she could starve in a patisserie for want of being able to choose, simply followed behind her filling a plate as she agonized over the selections, and when it was mounded precariously high with goodies, he took her gently by the elbow and pulled her through an exit toward a pair of wrought-iron chairs and a table standing just inside the oval of the tent's golden light. Bonnie's eyes widened as he carefully set his tower of treats in the table's center. "We'll never eat all that!"

But they did, the cookies, cakes and chocolates disappearing piece by piece as, absorbed in each other's stories of how they'd spent their time apart, they noshed absently away, barely tasting what they put in their mouths or licked from their fingertips. Trev had packed so much activity into his ten weeks, and some of it of so adventurous a nature, that Bonnie listened far more than she spoke, and, at points, almost breathlessly. There were a great many firsts: he'd judged a beauty pageant and, in the aftermath, gone on a few dates with the evening's Miss Congeniality; he'd hit the Vegas gaming tables one weekend with his cousins (and won big); he'd explored, one after another, a variety of new sports — sky-diving, rock climbing, spelunking — and, of course, he'd just returned from two solid weeks backpacking in Colorado with his old buddy, Bishop. "Remember him?"

"I do! _Frank_ Bishop, right? I've always wondered if he felt the need to live up to his name, or if it he was just naturally blunt."

"He can be brutally honest," Trev allowed, "but I actually like that about him."

A dainty petit four, almost lost among the discarded paper doilies, was all that remained of their sweet feast. Trev inched the plate her way, but Bonnie shook her head, and motioned for him to take it. She waited until he'd popped it in his mouth before asking, mock-innocently, "Did you just not get around to whitewater kayaking up at Great Falls?"

He regarded her quizzically. "Didn't I mention?" The words came out muffled by cake. He shot her a sheepish look and took time to swallow. "I did that, must've been, first week in July. How'd you guess?"

She smiled at him wryly. "Vegas, caving, wilderness camping — they're all things you've been wanting to try for years, but held off doing on my account."

"Because you weren't enthused," he agreed. "I'll admit that factored into my choices. I figured, as long as I was going to fly solo anyway, I might as well suit myself."

" _And_ thumb your nose at me while you were at it. No," she forged on when he would have protested, "I get it. I do. Only… was it _really_ necessary to go risking life and limb at every opportunity?"

It was lightly said, but Trev picked up the friendly reproach and smiled ruefully. "Early on, I needed to get out of my head in the worst way, and there's nothing like a little danger to force you to focus all your attention on the here-and-now. You miss a handhold or put a foot wrong, you're asking for a whole heap of trouble. The only option you have is to keep your mind completely in the game."

"And, for as long as it lasts, you forget how deep down in the dumps you feel." She nodded. "It helped me to stay busy, too. My family — bless them! — took turns keeping me too much on the go to brood." She told him, for laughs, about Eddie's taking her on a phony stake-out, but, while he listened with a smile, it was faint and didn't light his eyes. Her own smile faded as she tried to plumb his expression, and failed. "What?"

He didn't answer at once, and then, just when she'd begun to think he wouldn't, he brought out, "It wasn't the same, what we went through."

She drew a quick breath, stung, for what else could he mean but that he'd had a far rougher time of it than she'd had, that she had no business comparing her suffering to his? It might be true — was even likely — but that he'd raise the point, knowing it must hurt her, was an unkindness all the more cutting for being unlike him. "Of course not," she said, quickly. "I'm sorry if I seemed to imply…"

He stopped her, though, with a shake of his head. "You don't understand. And you can't," he added, heavily. "Because you don't know. Not everything." He slanted a suddenly self-conscious glance toward the tent, and Bonnie, following his gaze, saw why: a man and woman, full plates and wine glasses in their hands, stood awkwardly nearby, eyeing their table with undisguised envy. "Look, we should go. But could we walk, d'you think? In the garden?"

Bonnie responded by rising without demur, the chair scraping back against the brickwork with a rasp of distressed metal. She gestured to the crumb-strewn plate and balled-up wrappers. "What about all this?"

"I'll clear it, and be right back."

The couple, wreathed in grateful smiles, hurried up even as Trev stepped away, and by the time Bonnie had accepted their thanks and allayed their entirely formal fear of having chased them off with their hovering, Trev had returned.

The garden at the foot of the Great Hall terrace had nothing of the exuberance of the rose garden off the Jeffersonian's research wing. It was laid out in the French style, rigidly geometric and restrained. A neat brick walkway bordered the central parterre on three sides, and was edged, itself, by a procession of cherry trees on its flanks and a wall, complete with a tall, wrought-iron gate, at its end. Discreet lampposts alternated with park benches the length of the walk, shedding just enough soft light to guide their steps and illuminate the closer of the low hedges, mounds of summer annuals and marble statuary that formed the parterre's intricate design.

The night air had gone, by insensible degrees, from fresh to nippy, and Bonnie, as she paced silently beside Trev, found herself wrapping her hands about her arms and thinking longingly of the cashmere stole she'd left at the coat check.

"You cold?"

She'd been chafing her skin without thinking and stopped at the question, but Trev was already shucking off his jacket and in a moment, though she protested, he was draping it over her shoulders and adjusting it to fall about her like a cloak. The heavy silk retained so much of his body heat, she went from chilled to toasty between one breath and another. "Thank you."

"Happy to oblige."

They walked on, so far, the burble of voices dimmed to a distant murmur. Though it cost her an effort, Bonnie left it to Trev to break the silence, which he did, at last, with a bitter laugh. "The irony is, you're the one person I've always been able to talk to. About anything." He shook his head. "I don't even know where to start."

"You said it wasn't the same, what we went through," she reminded him.

He nodded, as if grateful for the prompt. "What I said about needing to get out of my head? It _was_ about putting my blues on hold for a while, sure, but there was a lot more to it than that for me. I had other thoughts, other feelings, I couldn't handle."

"Such as?"

"Anger, mostly. Disgust…"

"With me?"

"No! Never!" He sounded genuinely shocked. "Why would you even think that? I have the utmost respect for you. Admiration, even. Your honesty, courage… They put me to shame."

It was Bonnie's turn to be stunned. "What're you talking about! I'm not the one jumping out of planes and squeezing into dark, narrow passages underground!"

"No, you've got a different brand of courage, a brand I haven't been able to muster 'til just recently. I'm not a physical coward — I proved that to my satisfaction — but the kind of bravery you have? To look a hard truth in the face and not flinch?" He shook his head grimly. "I didn't have it."

Bonnie nearly told him he was giving her too much credit, but instead, sensing that he needed her to, she asked, "What 'hard truth' do you mean?"

"The truth about us. That our relationship was getting onto shaky ground, that we might even be heading for a break-up. There was nothing obviously wrong — nothing I could put my finger on, anyway — but, still, I had this nagging feeling we weren't really connecting anymore, not like we had been. Things were fine, we were getting along great as ever, but something was off. Missing. Call it the spark, the thrill — whatever you want. I don't mean to say I felt we were just going through the motions, but things had gone a little lifeless, a little flat."

"When was all this?"

"I don't know, exactly. Last winter, I guess."

"You never said anything about it to me."

"No. Like I said, I buried my head in the sand. Told myself I was imagining things, being paranoid, mistaken. Or I made allowances: we were just going through a rough patch, or it was unreasonable to expect we'd be still in the honeymoon phase after nearly a decade together. Relationships get less exciting over time. That's just how it goes. Nobody stays on cloud nine forever."

Bonnie was suddenly put in mind of what Trev had offered her the night he'd proposed: no tremendous highs, or desperate lows, he'd said. A life of common joys, unfolding peacefully down the years. A comfortable life with love aplenty, but passion? Evidently, he hadn't expected that to figure in their future.

His thoughts must have been traveling along the same lines, since he asked, "Did you ever wonder, at all, why I popped the question when I did?"

"What finally tipped the balance, do you mean? No. I assumed you just felt it was time. I seem to recall Freya'd been dropping some fairly heavy hints about the clock ticking… Hold on!" She came to an abrupt halt, forcing him to pull up and turn back to her. "You were already having your doubts, then, weren't you? And you asked me to marry you anyway?"

"Not 'anyway,' no. _Because of_. I was always going to propose, you know that, but there'd never been any real urgency about it. Not until that vague feeling of uneasiness set in. And, after you started working at the Jeff, it actually got worse. You were preoccupied and distant, and, though I could rationalize that away as you being stressed out by a new job, it felt like we were drifting still further apart. I even got to thinking there might be another man. You remember I asked you, straight out."

"And I said no. Which was the truth."

"I know. I was conscious, even at the time, that I was probably only suspecting you of what I was guilty of, myself."

They had recommenced walking, but now Bonnie stopped again. "You were seeing other women?"

"Of course not — I'm not that much of an ass! — but I was looking in a way I hadn't looked in years, and that rattled me. I took it as another sign that what we had was slipping away, and I went into panic mode. I needed the kind of reassurance only being engaged to you could give me, so I gambled on you saying yes."

"And then I didn't."

"True, but you didn't give me the firm 'no' of my nightmares. 'Maybe' was encouragement enough."

They came to the end of the walkway, and, rounding one corner of the parterre, stood for a moment with the massive entrance gate at their backs and, before them, shrunk with distance, the brilliantly-lit Hall in its frame of night. Beyond the wall, cars whizzed by in an unbroken stream, filling the silence with a steady whoosh.

Trev set them strolling again. "The doubts came roaring back, of course. All it took was seeing you and Baer together at the art show, and later, at the carnival. A person'd have to be blind not to see you were drawn to him, maybe even falling in love with the bastard, but, again, instead of facing my fears head on, I pulled that stupid stunt at the karaoke bar." He gave his head a rueful shake. "Not my finest hour."

"No," Bonnie agreed, "but part of the fault was mine. I shouldn't've left you hanging for three months."

"And I shouldn't've held on. Especially not after that fiasco. I've thought a lot about that day at Ashby Pond, Bonnie, about the chance I had, and blew, to redeem myself. I knew, even while we were sitting on that bench, that a real man, the kind of man I thought I was, would've found the inner strength to let you go. I failed you there, and I'm sorry. We both know if you'd had to give an answer that day, it would've been 'no,' and there was no reason to assume ten more weeks of stewing would've made any difference. The opposite, in fact. The decent thing, the loving thing to've done under the circumstances would've been not to prolong the agony. Sooner or later, one of us was going to have to endure the pain of ending our relationship, but it didn't have to be you, Bonnie. I could've been generous and taken that on myself, but I didn't. I couldn't set you free, and for the most shameful reason of all: I was terrified."

Bonnie shot Trev a startled look, half-convinced he must joking, but there was no hint of humor, self-deprecating or otherwise, on his face. "I can see how you might be anxious about being on your own again, or even afraid you won't find somebody new, but… _terrified_ , Trev?"

"Scared out of my ever-lovin' mind. Something happened, you see. Something I didn't ask for, and certainly didn't want. I… er… fell in love."


End file.
